STEPHEN  B«  WEEKS 

CLASS  OF  Beg:  PHDi  THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY 


OF  THE 

UMVERSOY  OF  MUM  CAROLINA 
TIE  WEEKS  C©L1IJECTII<0>N 

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(f  P71-S' 
THE  YEMASSEE. 


I    ROMANCE     OF     CAROLINA. 


By    THE  AUTHOR   OF 
.GITYRIVERS,"  "MARTIN  FABER,»&c 


«  Thus  goes  the  empire  down-the  people  shout 
And  perish.  From  the  vanishing  wreck,  I  save 
One  frail  memorial." 


IN     TWO     VOLUMES. 

VOL.    I. 


\\ 


\&> 


23Mr'29 


MBW-YOBK: 

1844. 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1835, 

by  Harper  &  Brotheks, 

in  the  Clerk's  office  of  the  Southern  District  of  New- York- 


L&nxy,  Univ.  of 


ro 


SAMUEL  HENRY  DICKSON,  M.B., 

PROFESSOR    OF   THE   INSTITUTES    AND     PRACTICE    OF   MEDICINE   IN 
THE   MEDICAL   COLLEGE  OF  THE    STATE   OF  SOOTH  CAROLINA — 

This  Romance,  meant  to  illustrate  a  period  of  time, 
and  portion  of  history,  in  a  region,  for  which  neither, 
of  us  can  feel  other  than  a  warm  attachment,  is  affec- 
tionately inscribed,  in  proof  of  the  esteem  for  his  high 
character,  and  the  regard  for  his  approved  friendship, 
entertained  by 

THE  AUTHOR. 

Summercille,  South  Carolina, 


*»* 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


I  have  entitled  this  story  a  romance,  and  no* 
novel — the  reader  will  permit  me  to  insist  upon  the 
distinction.  I  am  unwilling  that  "  The  Yemassle" 
should  be  examined  by  any  other  than  those  standards 
which  have  governed  me  in  its  composition ;  and  un- 
less the  critic  is  willing  to  adopt  with  me,  those  leading 
principles,  in  accordance  with  which  the  materials  of 
my  book  have  been  selected,  the  less  we  have  to  say 
to  one  another  the  better. 

Supported  by  the  authority  of  common  sense  and 
justice,  not  to  speak  of  Pope — 

"In  every  work  regard  the  writer's  end, 
Since  none  can  compass  more  than  they  intend" — 

I  have  surely  a  right  to  insist  upon  this  particular. 
It  is  only  when  an  author  departs  from  his  own  stand- 
ards, that  he  offends  against  propriety  and  deserves 
punishment.  Reviewing  "  Atalantis,"  a  fairy  tale,  full 
of  machinery,  and  without  a  purpose  save  the  imbodi- 
ment  to  the  mind's  eye  of  some  of  those 

"  Gay  creatures  of  the  element, 
That  in  the  colours  of  the  rainbow  live, 
And  play  i'  the  plighted  clouds" — 

a   distinguished   writer  of   this   country    gravely  re- 
marks, in  a  leading  periodical, — "Magic  is  now  beyond 
1* 


71  ADVERTISEMENT. 

the  credulity  of  iigiA  years" — and  yet,  the  author  set 
out  to  make  a  slorv  of  the  supernatural,  and  never 
contemplated,  for  a  moment,  the  deception  of  any  good 
citizen ! 

The  question  briefly  is,  what  are  the  standards  of 
the  modern  romance — what  is  the  modern  romance 
itself?  The  reply  is  instant.  Modern  romance  is 
the  substitute  which  the  people  of  to-day  offer  for  the 
ancient  epic.  Its  standards  are  the  same.  The  reader, 
who,  reading  Ivanhoe,  keeps  Fielding  and  Richardson 
beside  him,  will  be  at  fault  in  every  step  of  his  prog- 
ress. The  domestic  novel  of  those  writers,  confined 
to  the  felicitous  narration  of  common  and  daily  occur- 
ring events,  is  altogether  a  different  sort  of  composi- 
tion ;  and  if  such  a  reader  happens  to  pin  his  faith,  in 
a  strange  simplicity  and  singleness  of  spirit,  to  such 
writers  alone,  the  works  of  Maturin,  of  Scott,  of  Bul- 
wer,  and  the  rest,  are  only  ,so  much  incoherent  non- 
sense. 

The  modern  romance  is  a  poem  in  every  sense  of 
the  word.  It  is  only  with  those  who  insist  upon 
poetry  as  rhyme,  and  rhyme  as  poetry,  that  the  iden- 
tity fails  to  be  perceptib..t!.  Its  standards  are  precisely 
those  of  the  epic.  It  invests  individuals  with  an  ab- 
sorbing interest — it  hunies  them  through  crowding 
events  in  a  narrow  space  of  time — it  requires  the  same 
unities  of  plan,  of  purpose,  and  harmony  of  parts,  and 
it  seeks  for  its  adventures  among  the  wild  and  wonder- 
ful. It  does  not  insist  upon  what  is  known,  or  even 
what  is  probabhe.  It  gitsps  at  the  possible  ;  and, 
[dacing  a  human  agent  in  hitherto  untried  situations, 
it  exercises  its  ii  genuity  in  extricating  him  from  them, 
while  describing  his  feelings  and  his  fortunes  in  their 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


progress.  The  task  has  been  well  or  ill  done,  in  pro- 
portion to  the  degree  of  ingenuity  and  knowledge  which 
the  romancer  exhibits  in  carrying  out  the  details,  ac- 
cording to  such  proprieties  as  are  called  for  by  the 
circumstances  of  the  story.  These  proprieties  are  the 
standards  set  up  at  his  starting,  and  to  which  he  is  re- 
quired religiously  to  confine  himself. 

The  Yemassee  is  proposed  as  an  American  ro- 
mance. It  is  so  styled,  as  much  of  the  material  could 
have  been  furnished  by  no  other  country.  Something 
too  much  of  extravagance — so  some  may  think, — even 
beyond  the  usual  license  of  fiction — may  enter  into 
certain  parts  of  the  narrative.  On  this  subject,  it  is 
enough  for  me  to  say,  that  the  popular  faith  yields 
abundant  authority  for  the  wildest  of  its  incidents. 
The  natural  romance  of  our  country  has  been  my  ob- 
ject, and  I  have  not  dared  beyond  it.  For  the  rest — 
for  the  general  peculiarities  of  the  Indians,  in  their  un- 
degraded  condition — my  authorities  are  numerous  in 
all  the  writers  who  have  written  from  their  own  expe- 
rience. My  chief  difficulty,  I  may  add,  has  arisen 
rather  from  the  discrimination  necessary  in  picking  and 
choosing,  than  from  any  deficiency  of  the  material 
itself.  It  is  needless  to  add  that  the  leading  events 
are  strictly  true,  and  that  the  outline  is  to  be  found  in 
the  several  histories  devoted  to  the  region  of  country 
in  which  the  scene  is  laid.  A  slight  anachronism 
occurs  in  the  first  volume,  but  it  has  little  bearing  upon 
the  story,  and  is  altogether  unimportant. 

New-York,  April  3,  1835. 


ADVERTISEMENT 

TO 

THE   SECOND   EDITION. 


The  sudden  call  for  a  second  edition  of  •'  Th^ 
Yf-massee,"  so  soon  after  the  first,  renders  it  impossible 
for  the  author  to  effect  more  than  a  very  few  of  the  many 
corrections  which  he  had  meditated  in  the  work.  The 
first  edition  was  a  remarkably  large  one — twenty-five 
hundred  copies— twice  the  number  usually  put  forth,  in 
this  country,  of  similar  European  publications.  This 
fact,  so  highly  encouraging  to  native  endeavour,  is  pecu- 
liarly so  to  him,  as  it  imbodies  an  independently-formed 
opinion  of  his  countrymen ;  which  has  not,  in  his  case, 
lingered  in  waiting  for  that  customary  guidance  of  foreign 
judgment,  which  has  been  so  frequently  urged,  as  its 
weakness,  against  the  character  of  native  criticism. 
New-York,  April  23d,  1835. 


THE    YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

4  A  scatter'd  race — a  wild,  unfetter'd  tribe, 
That  in  the  forests  dwell — that  send  no  ships 
For  commerce  on  the  waters — rear  no  walls 
To  shelter  from  the  storm,  or  shield  from  strife 
And  leave  behind,  in  memory  of  their  name, 
No  monument,  save  in  the  dim,  deep  woods, 
That  daily  perish  as  their  lords  have  done 
Beneath  the  keen  stroke  of  the  pioneer. 
Let  us  look  back  upon  their  forest  homes, 
As,  in  that  earlier  time,  when  first  their  foes, 
The  pale-faced,  from  the  distant  nations  came, 
They  dotted  the  green  banks  of  winding  streams 

There  is  a  small  section  of  country  now  comprised 
within  the  limits  of  Beaufort  District,  in  the  State  of 
South  Carolina,  which,  to  this  day,  goes  by  the  name 
of  Indian  Land.  The  authorities  are  numerous  which 
show  this  district,  running  along,  as  it  does,  and  on  its 
southern  side  bounded  by,  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  to  have 
been  the  very  first  in  North  America,  distinguished  by 
an  European  settlement.  The  design  is  attributed  to 
the  celebrated  Coligni,  Admiral  of  France,*  who,  in  the 

*  Dr.  Melligan,  one  of  the  historians  of  South  Carolina,  says  far- 
ther, that  a  French  settlement,  under  the  same  auspices,  was  actually 
made  at  Charleston,  and  that  the  country  received  the  name  of  La 
Caroline,  in  honour  of  Charles  IX.  This  is  not  so  plausible,  however, 
for  as  the  settlement  was  made  by  Huguenots,  and  under  the  auspices 
of  Coligni,  it  savours  of  extravagant  courtesy  to  suppose  that  they 
would  pay  so  high  a  compliment  to  one  of  the  most  bitter  enemies 
of  that  religious  toleration,  in  pursuit  of  which  they  deserted  their 
country.  Charleston  took  its  name  from  Charles  II.,  the  reigning 
English  monarch  at  the  time.  Its  earliest  designation  was  Oyster 
Point  town,  from  the  marine  formation  of  its  soil.  Dr.  Hewatt — 
another  of  the  early  historians  of  Carolina,  who  possessed  many  ad- 
vantages in  his  work  not  common  to  other  writers,  having  been  a 
careful  gatherer  of  local  and  miscellaneous  history — places  the  first 
settlement  of  Jasper  de  Coligni,  under  the  conduct  of  Jean  Ribaud,  at 
the  mouth  of  a  rirer  called  Albemarle,  which,  strangely  enough,  the 


10  THE    VEMASSEE. 

reign  of  Charles  IX.,  conceived  the  project  with  the  ul- 
terior view  of  securing  a  sanctuary  for  the  Huguenots, 
when  they  should  be  compelled,  as  he  foresaw  they 
soon  would,  by  the  anti-religious  persecutions  of  the 
time,  to  fly  from  their  native  into  foreign  regions.  This 
settlement,  however,  proved  unsuccessful ;  and  the 
events  which  history  records  of  the  subsequent  efforts 
of  the  French  to  establish  colonies  in  the  same  neigh- 
bourhood, while  of  unquestionable  authority,  have  all 
the  air  and  appearance  of  the  most  delightful  romance. 

It  was  not  till  an  hundred  years  after,  that  the  same 
spot  was  temporarily  settled  by  the  English  under 
Sayle,  who  became  the  first  governor,  as  he  was  the 
first  permanent  founder  of  the  settlement.  The  situa- 
tion was  exposed,  however,  to  the  incursions  of  the 
Spaniards,  who,  in  the  meanwhile,  had  possessed  them- 
selves of  Florida,  and  who,  for  a  long  time  after,  contin- 
ued to  harass  and  prevent  colonization  in  this  quarter. 
But  perseverance  at  length  triumphed  over  all  these 
difficulties,  and  though  Sayle,  for  fartner  security  in  the 
infancy  of  his  settlement,  had  removed  to  the  banks  of 
the  Ashley,  other  adventurers,  by  little  and  little,  con- 
trived to  occupy  the  ground  he  had  left,  and  in  the  year 
1700,  the  birth  of  a  white  native  child  is  recorded. 

From  the  earliest  period  of  our  acquaintance  with 
the  country  of  which  we  speak,  it  was  in  the  posses- 
sion of  a  powerful  and  gallant  race,  and  their  tributary 
tribes,  known  by  the  general  name  of  the  Yemassees. 
Not  so  numerous,  perhaps,  as  many  of  the  neighbour- 
ing nations,  they  nevertheless  commanded  the  respect- 
ful consideration  of  all.  In  valour  they  made  up  for 
any  deficiencies  of  number,  and  proved  themselves  not 
&my  sufficiently  strong  to  hold  out  defiance  ~.o  invasion, 

narration  finds  in  Florida.  Here  Ribaud  is  said  to  ha*  e.  buiit  &  :<>.-*; 
and  by  him  the  country  was  called  Carolina.  May  river,  another 
alleged  place  of  original  location  for  this  colony,  has  been  some- 
times identified  with  the  St.  John's  and  other  waters  of  Florida  or 
Virginia ;  but  opinion  in  Carolina  settles  down  in  favour  of  a  stream 
still  bearing  that  name,  and  in  Beaufort  District,  not  far  from  the  sub- 
sequent permanent  settlement.  Old  ruins,  evidently  French  in  their 
origin,  still  exist  in  the  neighbourhood. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  11 

but  actually  in  most  case's  to  move  first  in  the  assault. 
Their  readiness  for  the  field  was  one  of  their  chief 
securities  against  attack ;  and  their  forward  valour, 
elastic  temper,  and  excellent  skill  in  the  rude  condition 
of  their  warfare,  enabled  them  to  subject  to  their  domin- 
ion most  of  the  tribes  around  them,  many  of  which 
were  equally  numerous  with  their  own.  Like  the 
Romans,  in  this  way  they  strengthened  their  own 
powers  by  a  wise  incorporation  of  the  conquered  with 
the  conquerors ;  and,  under  the  several  names  of 
Huspahs,  Coosaws,  Combahees,  Stonoees,  and  Sewees, 
the  greater  strength  of  the  Yemassees  contrived  to 
command  so  many  dependants,  prompted  by  their  move- 
ments, and  almost  entirely  under  their  dictation.  Thus 
strengthened,  the  recognition  of  their  power  extended 
into  the  remote  interior,  and  they  formed  one  of  the 
twenty-eight  aboriginal  nations  among  which,  at  its 
first  settlement  by  the  English,  the  province  of  Caro- 
lina was  divided. 

A  feeble  colony  of  adventurers  from  a  distant  world 
had  taken  up  its  abode  alongside  of  them.  The  weak- 
nesses of  the  intruder  were,  at  first,  his  only  but  suffi- 
cient protection  with  the  unsophisticated  savage.  The 
white  man  had  his  lands  assigned  him,  and  he  trenched 
his  furrows  to  receive  the  grain  on  the  banks  of 
Indian  waters.  The  wild  man  looked  on  the  humilia- 
ting labour,  wondering  as  he  did  so,  but  without  fear, 
and  never  dreaming  for  a  moment  of  his  own  approach- 
ing subjection.  Meanwhile  the  adventurers  grew  daily 
more  numerous,  foi  their  friends  and  relatives  soon 
followed  them  over  the  ocean.  They  too  had  lands 
assigned  them,  in  turn,  by  the  improvident  savage  ;  and 
increasing  intimacies,  with  uninterrupted  security,  day 
by  day,  won  the  former  still  more  deeply  into  the 
bosom  of  the  forests,  and  more  immediately  in  con- 
nexion with  their  wild  possessors ;  until,  at  length, 
we  behold  the  log-house  of  the  white  man,  rising  up 
amid  the  thinned  clump  of  woodland  foliage,  within 
hailing  distance  of  the  squat,  clay  hovel  of  the  savage. 
Sometimes  their  smokes  even  united  ;   and  now  and 


12  THE    YEMASSEE. 

then  the  two,  the  "European  and  his  dusky  guide," 
might  be  seen,  pursuing,  side  by  side  and  with  the 
same  dog,  upon  the  cold  track  of  the  affrighted  deer  or 
the  yet  more  timorous  turkey. 

Let  us  go  back  an  hundred  years,  and  more  vividly 
recall  this  picture.  In  1715,  the  Yemassees  were  in 
all  their  glory.  They  were  politic  and  brave — their 
sway  was  unquestioned,  and  even  with  the  Europeans, 
then  grown  equal  to  their  own  defence  along  the  coast, 
they  were  ranked  as  allies  rather  than  auxiliaries. 
As  such  they  had  taken  up  arms  with  the  Carolinians 
against  the  Spaniards,  who,  from  St.  Augustine,  perpet- 
ually harassed  the  settlements.  Until  this  period  they 
had  never  been  troubled  by  that  worst  tyranny  of  all, 
the  consciousness  of  their  inferiority  to  a  power  of 
which  they  were  now  beginning  to  grow  jealous. 
Lord  Craven,  the  governor  and  palatine  of  Carolina, 
had  done  much  in  a  little  time,  by  the  success  of  his 
arms  over  the  neighbouring  tribes,  and  the  admirable 
policy  which  distinguished  his  government,  to  impress 
this  feeling  of  suspicion  upon  the  minds  of  the  Ye- 
massees. Their  aid  had  ceased  to  be  necessary  to 
the  Carolinians.  They  were  no  longer  sought  or 
solicited.  The  presents  became  fewer,  the  borderers 
grew  bolder  and  more  incursive,  and  new  territory, 
daily  acquired  by  the  colonists  in  some  way  or  other, 
drove  them  back  for  hunting-grounds  upon  the  waters  of 
the  Edistoh  and  Isundiga.*  Their  chiefs  began  to  show 
signs  of  discontent,  if  not  of  disaffection,  and  the  great 
mass  of  their  people  assumed  a  sullenness  of  habit 
and  demeanour,  which  had  never  marked  their  conduct 
heretofore.  They  looked,  with  a  feeling  of  aversion 
which  as  yet  they  vainly  laboured  to  conceal,  upon  the 
approach  of  the  white  man  on  every  side.  The  thick 
groves  disappeared,  the  clear  skies  grew  turbid  with 
the  dense  smokes  rolling  up  in  solid  masses  from  the 
burning  herbage.  Hamlets  grew  into  existence,  as  it 
were  by  magic,  under  their  very  eyes  and  in  sight  01 

*  Such  is  the  beautiful  name  by  which  the  Yemassees  knew  the 
Savannah  river. 


THE    YEMASSEE,  13 

their  own  towns,  for  the  shelter  of  a  different  people  ; 
and  at  length,  a  common  sentiment,  not  yet  imbodied 
perhaps  by  its  open  expression,  prompted  the  Ye- 
massees  in  a  desire  to  arrest  the  progress  of  a  race 
with  which  they  could  never  hope  to  acquire  any  real 
or  lasting  affinity.  Another  and  a  stronger  ground  for 
jealous  dislike,  arose  necessarily  in  their  minds  with 
the  gradual  approach  of  that  consciousness  of  their  in- 
feriority which,  while  the  colony  was  dependant  and 
weak,  they  had  not  so  readily  perceived.  But  when 
they  saw  with  what  facility  the  new  comers  could  con- 
vert even  the  elements  not  less  than  themselves  into 
slaves  and  agents,  under  the  guidance  of  the  strong 
will  and  the  overseeing  judgment,  the  gloom  of  their 
habit  swelled  into  ferocity,  and  their  minds  were  busied 
with  those  subtle  schemes  and  stratagems  with  which,, 
in  his  nakedness,  the  savage  usually  seeks  to  neutral-. 
ize  the  superiority  of  European  armour. 

The  Carolinians  were  now  in  possession  of  the- 
entire  sea-coast,  with  a  trifling  exception,  which  forms 
the  Atlantic  boundary  of  Beaufort  and  Charleston 
districts.  They  had  but  few,  and  those  small  and  scat- 
tered, interior  settlements.  A  few  miles  from  the  sea- 
shore, and  the  Indian  lands  generally  girdled  them  in, 
still  in  the  possession  as  in  the  right  of  the  aborigines. 
But  few  treaties  had  yet  been  effected  for  the  pur- 
chase of  territory  fairly  out  of  sight  of  the  sea ;  those 
tracts  only  excepted  which  formed  the  borders  of  such 
rivers,  as,  emptying  into  the  ocean  <ind  navigable  to 
small  vessels,  afforded  a  ready  chance  of  escape  to 
the  coast  in  the  event  of  any  sudden  necessity.  In 
this  way,  the  whites  had  settled  along  the  banks  of 
the  Combahee,  the  Coosaw,  the  Pocota-ligo,  and  other 
contiguous  rivers  ;  dwelling  generally  in  small  commu- 
nities of  five,  seven,  or  ten  families  ;  seldom  of  more, 
and  these  taking  care  that  the  distance  should  be  slfght 
between  them.  Sometimes,  indeed,  an  individual  ad- 
venturer more  fearless  than  the  rest,  drove  his  stakes, 
and  took  up  his  lone  abode,  or  with  a  single  family,  in 
6ome  boundless  contiguity  of  eh«de,  ^evsral  miles  from 
I.  2 


14  THE    YEMASSEE. 

lis  own  people,  and  over  against  his  roving  neighbour ; 
oursuing  in  many  cases  the  same  errant  life,  adopting 
many  of  his  savage  habits,  and  this  too,  without  risking 
much,  if  any  thing,  in  the  general  opinion.  For  a  long 
season,  so  pacific  had  been  the  temper  of  the  Yemas- 
sees  towards  the  Carolinians,  that  the  latter  had  finally 
become  regardless  of  that  necessary  caution  which 
bolts  a  door  and  keeps  a  watch-dog. 

On  the  waters  of  the  Pocota-ligo,*  or  Little  Wood 
river,  this  was  more  particularly  the  habit  of  the  set- 
tlement. This  is  a  small  stream,  about  twenty-five 
miles  long,  which  empties  itself  into,  and  forms  one  of 
the  tributaries  of,  that  singular  estuary  called  Broad 
river ;  and  thus,  in  common  with  a  dozen  other  streams  of 
similar  «ize,  contributes  to  the  formation  of  the  beauti- 
ful harbour  of  Beaufort,  which,  with  a  happy  propriety, 
the  French  denominated  Port  Royal.  Leaving  the  yet 
small  but  improving  village  of  the  Carolinians  at  Beau- 
fort, we  ascend  the  Pocota-ligo,  and  still,  at  intervals, 
their  dwellings  present  themselves  to  our  eye  occa- 
sionally on  one  side  or  the  other.  The  banks,  generally 
edged  with  swamp  and  fringed  with  its  low  peculiar 
growth,  possess  few  attractions,  and  the  occasional 
cottage  serves  greatly  to  relieve  a  picture,  wanting 
certainly,  not  less  in  moral  association  than  in  the 
charm  of  landscape.  At  one  spot  we  encounter  the 
rude,  clumsy  edifice,  usually  styled  the  Block  House, 
built  for  temporary  defence,  and  here  and  there  hold- 
ing its  garrison  of  five,  seven,  or  ten  men,  seldom  of 
more,  maintained  simply  as  posts,  not  so  much  with 
he  view  to  war  as  of  warning.  In  its  neighbourhood 
we  see  a  cluster  of  log  dwellings,  three  or  four  in 
number,  the  clearings  in  progress,  the  piled  timber 
smoking  or  in  flame,  and  the  stillness  only  broken  by 
the  dull,  heavy  echo  of  the  axe,  biting  into  the  trunk  of 
the  tough  and  long-resisting  pine.     On  the  banks  the 

*  The  Indian  pronunciation  of  their  proper  names  is  eminently 
musical ;  we  usually  spoil  them.  This  name  is  preserved  in  Carolina, 
out  it  wants  the  euphony  and  force  which  the  Indian  tongue  gave  it. 
We  pronounce  it  usually  in  common  quantity.  The  reader  will  lay 
the  Emphasis  upon  the  penultimate,  giving  to  the  i  the  sound  of  «, 


THE    YEMASSEE.  15 

woodman  draws  up  his  "  dug-out"  or  canoe — a  single 
cypress,  hollowed  out  by  fire  and  the  hatchet ; — around 
the  fields  the  negro  piles  slowly  the  worming  and  un- 
graceful fence  ;  while  the  white  boy  gathers  fuel  for  the 
pot  over  which  his  mother  is  bending  in  the  preparatien 
of  their  frugal  meal.  A  turn  in  the  river  unfolds  to  our 
sight  a  cottage,  standing  by  itself,  half  finished,  and 
probably  deserted  by  its  capricious  owner.  Opposite, 
on  the  other  bank  of  the  river,  an  Indian  dries  his  bear- 
skin in  the  sun,  while  his  infant  hangs  in  the  tree, 
wrapped  in  another,  and  lashed  down  upon  a  board 
(for  security,  not  for  symmetry),  while  his  mother 
gathers  up  the  earth,  with  a  wooden  drag,  about  the 
young  roots  of  the  tender  corn.  As  we  proceed,  the 
traces  of  the  Indians  thicken.  Now  a  cot,  and  now  a 
hamlet,  grows  up  before  the  sight,  until,  at  the  very 
head  of  the  river,  we  come  to  the  great  place  of  coun- 
cil and  most  ancient  town  of  the  Yemassees — the 
town  of  Pocota-ligo.* 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  Not  in  their  usual  trim  was  he  arrayed, 
The  painted  savage  with  a  shaven  head, 
And  feature,  tortured  up  by  forest  skill, 
To  represent  each  noxious  form  of  ill — 
And  seem  the  tiger'.s  tooth,  the  vulture's  ravening  bill." 

The  "  great  town"  of  Pocota-ligo,  as  it  was  called 
oy  the  Yemassees,  was  the  largest  in  their  occupation. 
Its  pretensions  were  few,  however,  beyond  its  popu- 

*  It  may  be  well  to  say  that  the  Pocota-ligo  river,  as  here  described, 
would  not  readily  be  recognised  in  that  stream  at  present.  The 
swamps  are  now  reclaimed,  plantations  and  firm  dwellings  take  the 
place  of  the  ancient  groves ;  and  the  bald  and  occasional  tree  only 
tells  us  where  the  forests  have  been.  The  bed  of  the  river  has  been 
narrowed  by  numerous  encroachments ;  and,  though  still  navigable 
for  sloop  and  schooner,  its  fair  proportions  have  become  greatly  con- 
tracted in  the  silent  but  successful  operation  of  the  last  hundred 
years  upon  it. 


16  THE    YE MASSEET. 

lation,  to  rank  under  that  title.  It  was  a  simple  col- 
lection of  scattered  villages,  united  in  process  of  time 
by  the  coalition  with  new  tribes  and  the  natural  prog- 
ress of  increase  among  them.  They  had  other  large 
towns,  however,  nor  least  among  these  was  that  of 
Coosaw-hatchie,  or  the  "  refuge  of  the  Coosaws,"  a 
town  established  by  the  few  of  that  people  who  had 
survived  the  overthrow  of  their  nation  in  a  previous 
war  with  the  Carolinians.  The  "  city  of  refuge"  was 
a  safe  sanctuary,  known  among  the  greater  number 
of  our  forest  tribes,  and  not  less  respected  with  them 
than  the  same  institutions  among  the  Hebrews.*  The 
refuge  of  the  Coosaws,  therefore,  became  recognised 
as  such  by  all  the  Indians,  and  ranked,  though  of  in- 
ferior size  and  population,  in  no  respect  below  the 
town  of  Pocota-ligo.  Within  its  limits — that  is  to  say, 
within,  the  circuit  of  a  narrow  ditch,  which  had  care- 
fully prescribed  the  bounds  around  it — the  murderer 
found  safety ;  and  the  hatchet  of  his  pursuer,  and  the 
club  of  justice,  alike,  were  to  him  equally  innocuous 
while  he  remained  within  its  protection. 

The  gray,  soft  teints  of  an  April  dawn  had  scarcely 
yet  begun  to  lighten  the  dim  horizon,  when  the  low 
door  of  an  Indian  lodge  that  lay  almost  entirely  im- 
bowered  in  the  thick  forest,  about  a  mile  from  Poco- 
«  ta-ligo,  was  seen  to  unclose,  and  a  tall  warrior  to 
emerge  slowly  and  in  silence  from  its  shelter,  followed 
by  a  handsome  dog,  something  of  a  hound  in  his  gaunt 
person,  but  differing  from  the  same  animal  in  the  pos- 

*  These  cities  of  refuge  are,  even  now,  said  to  exist  among  the 
Cherokees.  Certain  rites,  common  to  most  of  the  Indian  tribes,  are 
so  clearly  identical  with  many  of  those  known  to  the  Asiatics,  that 
an  opinion  has  been  entertained,  with  much  plausibility  and  force, 
which  holds  the  North  Americans  to  have  come  from  the  lost  tribes 
of  Israel.  Dr.  Barton,  in  his  Materia  Medica,  referring  to  some  tra- 
ditions of  the  Carolina  Indians  respecting  their  medical  knowledge 
of  certain  plants,  holds  it  to  be  sufficient  ground  for  the  conjecture 
The  theorists  on  this  subject  have  even  pointed  out  the  route  of 
emigration  from  the  east,  by  the  way  of  Kamtschatka,  descending 
south  along  the  shores  of  the  Pacific  to  Cape  Horn.  The  great  dif- 
ficulty, however,  is  in  accounting  for  the  rapid  falling  back  of  any 
people  into  such  extreme  barbarism,  from  a  comparative  condition  of 
civilization. 


THE   YEMASSEE.  17 

session  of  a  head  exceedingly  short  and  compact. 
The  warrior  was  armed  after  the  Indian  fashion.  The 
long  straight  bow,  with  a  bunch  of  arrows,  probably 
a  dozen  in  number,  suspended  by  a  thong  of  deerskin, 
hung  loosely  upon  his  shoulders.  His  hatchet  or 
tomahawk,  a  light  weapon  introduced  by  the  colonists, 
was  slightly  secured  to  his  waist  by  a  girdle  of  the 
same  material.  His  dress,  which  fitted  tightly  to  his 
person,  indicated  a  frequent  intercourse  with  ihe 
whites  ;  since  it  had  been  adapted  to  the  shape  of  the 
wearer,  instead  of  being  worn  loosely  as^4he  bearskin 
of  preceding  ages.  Such  an  alteration  in  the  national 
costume  was  found  to  accord  more  readily  with  the 
pursuits  of  the  savage  than  the  flowing  garments 
which  he  had  worn  before.  Until  this  improvement 
he  had  been  compelled,  in  battle  or  the  chase,  to 
throw  aside  the  cumbrous  covering  which  neutralized 
his  swiftness,  and  to  exhibit  himself  in  that  state  of 
perfect  nudity,  scarcely  less  offensive  to  the  Indians 
than  to  more  civilized  communities.  The  warrior  be- 
fore us  had  been  among  the  first  to  avail  himself  of  the 
arts  of  the  whites  in  the  improvement  of  the  costume  ; 
and  though  the  various  parts  of  the  dress  were  secured 
together  by  small  strings  of  the  deer  sinew,  passed 
rudely  through  opposite  holes,  every  two  having  their 
distinct  tie,  yet  the  imitation  had  been  close  enough  to 
answer  all  purposes  of  necessity,  and  in  no  way  to 
destroy  the  claim  of  the  whites  to  the  originating  of 
the  improvement.  He  wore  a  sort  of  pantaloons,  the 
seams  of  which  had  been  permanently  secured  in  this 
manner,  made  of  tanned  buckskin  of  the  brightest 
yellow,  and  of  as  tight  a  fit  as  the  most  punctilious 
dandy  in  modern  times  would  insist  upon.  An  upper 
garment,  also  of  buckskin,  made  with  more  regard 
io  freedom  of  limb,  and  called  by  the  whites  a  hunt- 
:ng -shirt,  completed  the  dress.  Sometimes,  such  was 
ts  make,  the  wearer  threw  it  as  a  sort  of  robe 
loosely  across  hjs  shoulders ;  secured  thus  with 
the  broad  belt,  either  of  woollen  cloth  or  of  the  same 
material,  which  usually  accompanied  the  garment. 
2* 


18  THE    YEMASSEB. 

In  the  instance  of  which  we  speak,  it  sat  upon  the 
form  of  the  wearer  pretty  much  after  the  manner  of  a 
modern  gentleman's  frock.  Buskins,  or  as  named 
among  them,  mocquasins,  also  of  the  skin  of  the  deer, 
tanned,  or  in  its  natural  state,  according  to  caprice  or 
emergency,  enclosed  his  feet  tightly ;  and  without  any 
other  garment,  and  entirely  free  from  the  profusion  of 
gaudy  ornaments  so  common  to  the  degraded  Indians 
of  modern  times,  and  of  which  they  seem  so  extrava- 
gantly fond,  the  habit  of  our  new  acquaintance  may 
be  held  complete.  Ornament,  indeed,  of  any  descrip- 
tion, would  certainly  have  done  little,  if  any  thing, 
towards  the  improvement,  in  appearance,  of  the  indi- 
vidual before  us.  His  symmetrical  person — majestic 
port — keen,  falcon  eye— calm,  stern,  deliberate  ex- 
pression, and  elevated  head — would  have  been  en- 
feebled, rather  than  improved,  by  the  addition  of  beads 
and  gauds, — the  tinsel  and  glitter  so  common  to  the 
savage  now.  His  form  was  large  and  justly  propor- 
tioned. Stirring  event  and  trying  exercise  had  given 
it  a  confident,  free,  and  manly  carriage,  which  the  air 
of  decision  about  his  eye  and  mouth  admirably  tallied 
with  and  supported.  He  might  have  been  about  fifty 
years  of  age  ;  certainly  he  could  not  have  been  less  ; 
though  we  arrive  at  this  conclusion  rather  from  the 
strong,  acute,  and  sagacious  expression  of  his  features 
than  from  any  mark  of  feebleness  or  age.  Unlike  the 
Yemassees  generally,  who  seem  to  have  been  of  ar. 
elastic  and  frank  temper,  the  chief — for  he  is  such — 
under  our  view,  seemed  one,  like  Cassius,  who  had 
learned  to  despise  all  the  light  employs  of  life,  and 
now  only  lived  in  the  constant  meditation  of  deep 
scheme  and  subtle  adventure.  He  moved  and  looked 
as  one  with  a  mind  filled  to  overflowing  with  rest- 
less thought,  whose  spirit,  crowded  with  impetuous 
feelings,  kept  up  constant  warfare  with  the  more  de- 
liberate and  controlling  reason. 

Thus  appearing,  and  followed  closely  by  his  dog, 
advancing  from  the  shelter  of  his  wigwam,  he  drew 
tightly  the  belt  about  his  waist,  and  feeling  carefully 


THE    VEMASSEE.  19 

the  string  of  his  bow,  as  if  to  satisfy  himself  that  it 
was  unfrayed  and  coiud  be  depended  upon,  prepared 
to  go  forth  into  the  forest.  He  had  proceeded  but  a 
little  distance,  however,  when,  as  if  suddenly  recok 
lecting  something  he  had  forgotten,  he  returned  hur- 
riedly to  the  dweding,  and  tapping  lightly  upon  the 
door  which  had  been  closed  upon  his  departure, 
spoke  as  follows  to  some  one  within : — 

"  The  knife,  Matiwan,  the  knife." 

He  was  answered  in  a  moment  by  a  female  voice  ; 
the  speaker,  an  instant  after,  unclosing  the  door  and 
handing  him  the  instrument  he  required — the  long 
knife,  something  like  the  modern  case-knife,  which,  in- 
troduced by  the  whites,  had  been  at  once  adopted  by 
the  Indians,  as  of  all  other  things  that  most  necessary 
to  the  various  wants  of  the  hunter.  Sometimes  the 
name  of  the  Long  Knife  was  conferred  by  the  Indians, 
in  a  complimentary  sense,  upon  the  English,  in  due 
acknowledgment  of  the  importance  of  their  gift.  Pro- 
tected, usually,  as  in  the  present  instance,  by  a  leath- 
ern sheath,  it  seldom  or  never  left  the  person  of  its 
owner.  The  chief  received  the  knife,  and  placed  it 
along  with  the  tomahawk  in  the  belt  around  his  waist. 
He  was  about  to  turn  away,  when  the  woman,  but  a 
glimpse  of  whose  dusky  but  gentle  features  and  dark 
eyes,  appeared  through  the  half-closed  door,  addressed 
him  in  a  sentence  of  inquiry,  in  their  own  language, 
only  remarkable  for  the  deep  respectfulness  of  its 
tone. 

"  Sanutee, — the  chief,  will  he  not  come  back  with 
the  night  ?" 

"  He  will  come,  Matiwan — he  will  come.  But  the 
lodge  of  the  white  man  is  in  the  old  house  of  the  deer, 
and  the  swift-foot  steal*  off  from  the  clear  water  where 
he  once  used  to  drink.  The  white  man  grinds  his  corn 
with  the  waters,  and  the  deer  is  afraid  of  the  noise. 
Sanutee  will  hunt  for  him  in  the  far  swamps — and  the 
night  will  be  dark  before  he  comes  back  to  Matiwan." 

"  Sanutee — chief,"  she  arain  spoke  in  a  faltering 
accent,  as  if  to  prepare  the  way  for  something  else, 


20  THE  YEMASSEE. 

of  the  success  t  ?  which  she  seemed  more  doubtful ; 
but  she  paused  without  finishing  the  sentence. 

"  Sanutee  has  ears,  Matiwan — ears  always  for 
Matiwan,"  was  the  encouraging  response,  in  a  manner 
and  tone  well  calculated  to  confirm  the  confidence 
which  the  language  was  intended  to  inspire.  Half 
faltering  still,  she  however  proceeded  : — 

"  The  boy,  Sanutee — the  boy,  Occonestoga — " 

He  interrupted  her,  almost  fiercely. 

"  Occonestoga  is  a  dog,  Matiwan ;  he  hunts  the  slaves 
of  the  English  in  the  swamp,  for  strong  drink.  He 
is  a  slave  himself — he  has  ears  for  their  lies — he  be 
lieves  in  their  forked  tongues,  and  he  has  two  voices 
for  his  own  people.  Let  him  not  look  into  the  lodge  of 
Sanutee.     Is  not  Sanutee  the  chief  of  the  Yemassee  ?" 

"  Sanutee  is  the  great  chief.  But  Occonestoga  is 
the  son  of  Sanutee — " 

"  Sanutee  has  no  son — " 

"  But  Matiwan,  Sanutee — " 

"  Matiwan  is  the  woman  who  has  lain  in  the  bosom 
of  Sanutee  ;  she  has  dressed  the  venison  for  Sanutee 
when  the  great  chiefs  of  the  Charriquees*  sat  at  his 
board.  Sanutee  hides  it  not  under  his  tongue.  The 
Yemassees  speak  for  Matiwan — she  is  the  wife  of 
Sanutee." 

"And  mother  of  Occonestoga,"  exclaimed  the  woman, 
hurriedly. 

"No!  Matiwan  must  not  be  the  mother  to  a  dog. 
Occonestoga  goes  with  the  English  to  bite  the  heels 
of  the  Yemassee." 

"  Is  not  Occonestoga  a  chief  of  Yemassee  V  asked 
the  woman. 

"  Ha  !  look,  Matiwan — the  great  Manneyto  has  bad 
spirits  that  hate  him.  They  go  forth  and  they  fear 
him,  but  they  hate  him.  Is  not  Opitchi-Manneytof  a 
bad  spirit  ?" 

"  Sanutee  says." 

*  The  name  of  the  Cherokees  is  thus  written  in  some  of  the  old 
documents  of  South  Carolina. 
t  The  Yemassee  Evil  Principle. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  21 

"  But  Opitchi-Manneyto  works  for  the  good  spirit. 
He  works,  but  his  heart  is  bad — ho  loves  not  the 
work,  but  he  fears  the  thunder.  Occonestoga  is  the 
bad  servant  of  Yemassee :  he  shall  hear  the  thunder, 
and  the  lightning  shall  flash  in  his  path.  Go,  Matiwan, 
thou  art  not  the  mother  of  a  dog.  Go — Sanutee  will 
come  back  with  the  night." 

The  eye  of  the  woman  was  suffused  and  full  of 
appeal,  as  the  chief  turned  away  sternly,  in  a  manner 
which  seemed  to  forbid  all  other  speech.  She  watched 
him  silontly  as  he  withdrew,  until  he  was  hidden  from 
sight  by  the  interposing  forest,  then  sunk  back  sorrow- 
fully into  the  lodge  to  grieve  over  the  excesses  of  an 
only  son,  exiled  by  a  justly  incensed  father  from  the 
abode  of  which  he  had  been  the  blessing  and  the 
pride. 

Sanutee,  in  the  meanwhile,  pursued  his  way  silently 
through  a  narrow  by-path,  leading  to  the  town  of  Poco- 
ta-ligo,  which  he  reached  after  a  brief  period.  The 
town  lay  in  as  much  quiet  as  the  isolated  dwelling  he 
had  left.  The  sun  had  not  yet  arisen,  and  the  scat- 
tered dwellings,  built  low  and  without  closeness  or 
order,  were  partly  obscured  from  sight  by  the  untrim- 
med  trees,  almost  in  the  original  forest,  which  shut 
them  in.  A  dog,  not  unlike  his  own,  growled,  at  him 
as  he  approached  one  of  the  more  conspicuous  dwel- 
lings, and  this  was  the  only  sound  disturbing  the  gen- 
eral silence.  He  struck  quickly  at  the  door,  and  in- 
quired briefly — 

"  Ishiagaska — he  will  go  with  Sanutee." 

A  boy  came  at  the  sound,  and  in  reply,  pointing  to 
the  woods,  gave  him  to  understand — while  one  hand 
played  with  the  handle  of  the  chief's  knife,  which  he 
continued  to  draw  from  and  thrust  back  into  its  sheath, 
without  interruption  from  the  wearer — that  his  father 
had  already  gone  forth.  Without  farther  pause  or  in- 
quiry, Sanutee  turned,  and  taking  his  way  through  the 
body  of  the  town,  soon  gained  the  river.  Singling 
forth  a  canoe,  hollowed  out  from  a  cypress,  and  which 
lay  with  an  hundred  others  drawn  up  upon  the  miry 


22  THE    YEMASSfcE. 

bank,  he  succeeded  with  little  exertion  in  launching  it 
forth  into  the  water,  and  taking  his  place  upon  a  seat 
fixed  in  the  centre,  followed  by  his  dog,  with  a  small 
scull  or  flap-oar,  which  he  transferred  with  wonderful 
dexterity  from  one  hand  to  the  other  as  he  desired  to 
regulate  his  course,  he  paddled  himself  directly  across 
the  river,  though  then  somewhat  swollen  and  impetu- 
ous from  a  recent  and  heavy  freshet.  Carefully  con- 
cealing his  canoe  in  a  clustering  shelter  of  sedge  and 
cane,  which  grew  along  the  banks,  he  took  his  way, 
still  closely  followed  by  his  faithful  dog,  into  the 
bosom  of  a  forest  much  more  dense  than  that  which 
he  had  left,  and  which  promised  a  better  prospect  of 
the  game  which  he  desired. 


CHAPTER  III. 

"  The  red-deer  pauses  not  to  crush 
The  broken  branch  and  withered  bush, 
And  scarcely  may  the  dry  leaves  feel 
His  sharp  and  sudden  hoof  of  steel ; 
For,  startled  in  the  scatter'd  wood, 
In  fear  he  seeks  the  guardian  flood, 
Then  in  the  forest's  deepest  haunt, 
Finds  shelter  and  a  time  to  pant." 

What  seemed  the  object  of  the  chief  Sanutee,  the 
most  wise  and  valiant  among  the  Yemassees  ?  Was 
it  game — was  it  battle  ?  To  us  objectless,  his  course 
nevertheless  lay  onward  and  alone.  It  was  yet  early 
day,  and  though  here  and  there  inhabited,  no  human 
being  save  himself  seemed  stirring  in  that  dim  region. 
His  path  wound  about  and  sometimes  followed  the 
edge  of  a  swamp  or  bayou,  formed  by  a  narrow  and 
turbid  creek,  setting  in  from  the  river  and  making  one 
of  the  thousand  indentions  common  to  all  streams 
coursing  through  the  level  fiats  of  the  southern  coun- 
try.    He  occupied  an  hour  or  more  in  rounding  this 


THE    YEMASSEE.  26 

bayou ;  and  then,  with  something  of  directness  in  his 
progress,  he  took  his  way  down  the  river  bank  and 
towards  the  settlement  of  the  whites.  Yet  their  abodes 
or  presence  seemed  not  his  object.  Whenever,  here 
and  there,  as  he  continued  along  the  river,  the  larger 
clay  hovel  of  the  pioneer  met  his  sight,  shooting  up 
beyond  the  limits  of  civilization,  and  preparing  the  way 
for  its  approach,  the  Indian  chief  would  turn  aside 
from  the  prospect  with  ill-concealed  disgust. 

" He  would  the  plain 

Lay  in  its  tall  old  groves  again." 

Now  and  then,  as — perched  on  some  elevated  bank, 
and  plying  the  mysteries  of  his  woodcraft,  hewing  his 
timber,  clearing  his  land,  or  breaking  the  earth — the 
borderer  rose  before  his  glance,  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  his  half-finished  wigwam,  singing  out  some  cheery 
song  of  the  old  country,  as  much  for  the  strengthening 
of  his  resolve  as  for  the  sake  of  the  music,  the  war- 
rior would  dart  aside  into  the  forest,  not  only  out  of 
sight  but  out  of  hearing,  nor  return  again  to  the  road 
he  was  pursuing  until  fairly  removed  from  the  chance 
of  a  second  contact.  This  desire,  however,  was  not 
so  readily  indulged  ;  for  the  progress  of  adventure  and 
the  long  repose  fromstrife  in  that  neighbourhood  had 
greatly  encouraged  the  settlers  ;  and  it  was  not  so  easy 
for  Sanutee  to  avoid  the  frequent  evidences  of  that  en- 
terprise among  the  strangers,  which  was  the  chief 
cause  of  his  present  discontent.  Though  without 
any  thing  which  might  assure  us  of  the  nature  or  the 
mood  at  work  within  him,  it  was  yet  evident  enough 
that  the  habitations  and  presenceof  the  whites  brought 
him  nothing  but  disquiet.  He  was  one  of  those  per- 
sons, fortunately  for  the  species,  to  be  found  in  every 
country,  who  are  always  in  advance  of  the  masses 
clustering  around  them.  He  was  a  philosopher  not 
less  than  a  patriot,  and  saw,  while  he  deplored,  the 
destiny  which  awaited  his  people.  He  well  knew  that 
the  superior  must  necessarily  be  the  ruin  of  the  race 
which  is  inferior — that  the  one  must  either  sink  its 


24  THE    YEMASSEE. 

existence  in  with  that  of  the  other,  or  it  must  perish. 
He  was  wise  enough  to  see,  that  in  every  case  of  a 
leading  difference  between  classes  of  men,  either  in 
colour  or  organization,  such  difference  must  only  and 
necessarily  eventuate  in  the  formation  of  castes  ;  and 
the  one  conscious  of  any  inferiority,  whether  of  capa- 
city or  of  attraction,  so  long  as  they  remain  in  propin- 
quity with  the  other,  will  tacitly  become  instruments 
and  bondmen.  Apart  from  this  foreseeing  reflection, 
Sanutee  had  already  experienced  many  of  those  thou- 
sand forms  of  assumption  and  injury  on  the  part  of  the 
whites,  which  had  opened  the  eyes  of  many  of  his 
countrymen,  and  taught  them,  not  less  than  himself,  to 
know,  that  a  people,  once  conscious  of  their  superi- 
ority, will  never  be  found  to  hesitate  long  in  its  de- 
spotic exercise  over  their  neighbours.  An  abstract 
standard  of  justice,  independent  of  appetite  or  circum- 
stance, has  not  often  marked  the  progress  of  Christian 
(so  called)  civilization,  in  its  proffer  of  its  great  good 
to  the  naked  savage.  The  confident  reformer,  who 
takes  sword  in  one  hand  and  sacrament  in  the  other, 
has  always  found  it  the  surest  way  to  rely  chiefly  on 
the  former  agent.  Accordingly,  it  soon  grew  apparent 
to  the  Yemassees,  that,  while  proposing  treaties  for 
the  purchase  of  their  lands,  the  whites  were  never  so 
well  satisfied,  as  when,  by  one  subtlety  or  another,  they 
contrived  to  overreach  them.  Nor  was  it  always  that 
even  the  show  of  justice  and  fair  bargaining  was  pre- 
served by  the  new  comer  to  his  dusky  brother.  The 
irresponsible  adventurer,  removed  from  the  immediate 
surveillance  of  society,  committed  numberless  petty 
injuries  upon  the  property,  and  sometimes  upon  the 
person  of  his  wandering  neighbour,  without  being  often 
subject  to  the  penalties  awarded  by  his  own  people  for 
the  punishment  of  such  offenders.  From  time  to  time, 
as  the  whites  extended  their  settlements,  and  grew  con- 
fident in  their  increasing  strength,  did  their  encroach- 
ments go  on ;  until  the  Indians,  originally  gentle  and 
generous  enough,  provoked  by  repeated  aggression, 
were  not  unwilling  to  change  their  habit  for  one  of 


THE    YEMASSEE.  25 

strife  and  hostility,  at  the  first  convenient  opportunity. 
At  the  head  of  those  of  the  Yemassees  entertaining 
such  a  feeling,  Sanutee  stood  pre-eminent.  A  chief 
and  warrior,  having  influence  with  the  nation,  and  once 
exercising  it  warmly  in  favour  of  the  English,  he  had, 
however,  come  to  see  farther  than  the  rest  of  his  peo- 
ple the  degradation  which  was  fast  dogging  their  foot- 
steps. To  the  ultimate  consequences  his  mind  there- 
fore gave  itself  up,  and  was  now  employed  in  the 
meditation  of  all  those  various  measures  of  relief  and 
redress,  which  would  naturally  suggest  themselves  to 
a  resolute  and  thinking  spirit,  warmed  by  patriotism 
and  desirous  of  justice.  We  shall  see,  in  the  sequel, 
how  deeply  he  had  matured  the  remedy,  and  how 
keenly  he  had  felt  the  necessity  calling  for  its  appli- 
cation. 

At  length  he  came  to  a  cottage  more  tastefully  con- 
structed than  the  rest,  having  a  neat  veranda  in 
front,  and  half  concealed  by  the  green  foliage  of  a 
thickly  clustering  set  of  vines.  It  was  the  abode  of 
the  Rev.  John  Matthews,*  an  old  English  Puritan, 
who  had  settled  there  with  his  wife  and  daughter,  and 
officiated  occasionally  as  a  pastor,  whenever  a  collec- 
tion of  his  neighbours  gave  him  an  opportunity  to 
exhort.  He  was  a  stern  and  strict,  but  a  good  old 
man.  He  stood  in  the  veranda  as  Sanutee  came  in 
sight.  The  moment  the  chief  beheld  him,  he  turned 
away  with  a  bitter  countenance,  and  resolutely  avoid- 
ing the  house  until  he  had  gone  around  it,  took  no 
manner  of  heed  of  the  friendly  hail  which  the  old 
pastor  had  uttered  on  seeing  him  approach. 

Thus  pursuing  a  winding  route,  and  as  much  as 
possible  keeping  the  river  banks,  while  avoiding  the 

*  One  of  the  express  conditions  upon  which  the  original  patent  of 
Charles  II.  was  granted  to  the  lord  proprietors  of  Carolina,  was  their 
promulgation  of  the  gospel  among  the  Indians.  Upon  this  charita- 
ble object  the  mission  of  Mr.  Matthews  was  undertaken,  though  it 
may  be  well  to  add,  that  one  of  the  grounds  of  objection  made  sub- 
sequently to  the  proprietary  charier  was  the  neglect  of  the  duty. 
An  objection  not  so  well  founded  when  we  consider  the  difficulties 
which  the  roving  habits  of  the  savages  must  at  all  times  and  of  ne- 
cessity throw  in  the  way  of  such  labours. 

Vol.  I.  3 


26  THE    YEMASSEE. 

white  settlements,  the  Indian  warrior  had  spent  several 
hours  since  his  first  departure.  He  could  not  well  be 
said  to  look  for  game,  though,  possibly,  as  much 
from  habit  as  desire,  he  watched  at  intervals  the  fixed 
gaze  of  his  keenly  scented  dog,  as  it  would  be  concen- 
trated upon  the  woods  on  either  side — now  hearing  and 
encouraging  his  cry,  as  he  set  upon  the  track  of  deer 
or  turkey,  and  pursuing  digressively  the  occasional 
route  of  the  animal  whenever  it  seemed  to  the  chief 
that  there  was  any  prospect  of  his  success.  As  yet, 
however,  the  chase,  such  as  it  was,  had  resulted  in 
nothing.  The  dog  would  return  from  cover,  forego  the 
scent,  and  sluggishly,  with  drooping  head  and  indolent 
spirit,  silently  trip  along  either  before  or  behind  his 
master. 

It  was  about  mid-day  when  the  chief  rested  beside  a 
brooklet,  or,  as  it  is  called  in  the  south,  a  branch,  that 
trickled  across  the  path  ;  and  taking  from  the  leathern 
pouch  which  he  carried  at  his  side  a  strip  of  dried 
venison,  and  a  small  sack  of  parched  Indian  meal,  he 
partook  of  the  slight  repast  which  his  ramble  had  made 
grateful  enough.  Stooping  over  the  branch,  he  slaked 
his  thirst  from  the  clear  waters,  and  giving  the  residue 
of  his  eatables  to  the  dog,  who  stood  patiently  beside 
him,  he  prepared  to  continue  his  forward  progress. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  reached  the  Block  House 
of  the  settlers — the  most  remote  garrison  station  of  the 
English  upon  that  river.  It  had  no  garrison  at  this 
time,  however,  and  was  very  much  out  of  repair. 
Such  had  been  the  friendship  of  the  Yemassees 
heretofore  with  the  Carolinians,  that  no  necessity 
seemed  to  exist,  in  the  minds  of  the  latter,  for  main- 
taining it  in  better  order.  The  Block  House  marked 
the  rightful  boundary  of  the  whites  upon  the  river. 
Beyond  this  spot,  they  had  as  yet  acquired  no  claim  of 
territory  ;  and  hitherto  the  Indians,  influenced  chiefly 
by  Sanutee  and  other  of  their  chiefs,  had  resolutely  re- 
fused to  make  any  farther  conveyance,  or  enter  into 
any  new  treaty  for  its  disposal.  But  this  had  not  de- 
terred the  settlers,  many  of  whom  had  gone  consider- 


THE    YEMASSEE,  27 

ably  beyond  the  limit,  and  suffered  no  interruption. 
All  of  these  were  trespassers,  therefore,  and  in  a  matter 
of  right  would  have  been  soon  dispossessed ;  but  in 
the  event  of  such  an  effort,  no  treaty  would  have  been 
necessary  to  yield  sufficient  sanction  to  the  adven- 
turers for  a  defence  by  arms  of  their  possessions  ;  and 
many  of  the  borderers  so  obtruding  were  of  a  class  to 
whom  the  contiguity  of  the  Indians  was  quite  as  grate- 
ful, and  probably  as  safe,  as  that  of  their  own  colour. 
In  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Block  House,  however,, 
the  settlements  had  been  much  more  numerous.  The 
families,  scattered  about  at  a  distance  of  two,  three,  or 
four  miles  from  one  another,  could  easily  assemble  in 
its  shelter  in  the  chance  of  any  difficulty.  The  fabric 
itself  was  chiefly  constructed  for  such  uses  ;  and  could 
with  comparative  ease  be  defended  by  a  few  stout 
hearts  and  hands,  until  relief  could  reach  them  from 
their  brethren  on  the  coast.  Though  not  upon  the 
river,  yet  the  distance  of  this  fortress  from  it  was  in- 
considerable— a  mile  or  more,  perhaps,  and  with  an 
unobstructed  path  to  a  convenient  landing.  Retreat 
was  easy,  therefore,  in  this  way,  and  succours  by  the 
same  route  could  reach  them,  though  all  the  woods 
around  were  filled  with  enemies.  It  was  built  after  a 
prevailing  fashion  for  such  buildings  at  the  time.  An 
oblong  square  of  about  an  acre  was  taken  in  by  a 
strong  line  of  pickets,  giving  an  area  upon  either  end 
of  the  building,  but  so  narrow  that  the  pickets  in  front 
and  rear  actually  made  up  parts  of  the  fabric,  and 
were  immediately  connected  with  its  foundation  tim- 
bers. The  house  consisted  of  two  stories,  the  upper 
being  divided  by  a  thick  partition  into  two  apartments, 
with  a  clumsy  window  of  about  three  feet  square  in 
each.  These  two  windows  fronted  either  end  of  the 
building,  and  beyond  these  there  were  no  other  aper- 
tures than  those  provided  for  musket  shooting.  The 
lower  story  formed  but  a  single  hall,  from  which  lad- 
ders ascended  by  distinct  openings  into  the  upper 
apartments.  A  line  of  small  apertures,  made  at  proper 
intervals  in  the  walls  below,  served  also  for  the  use  of 
B2 


28  THE    YEMASSEE. 

muskets  against  an  approaching  enemy.  The  house 
was  built  of  pine^  logs,  put  together  as  closely  as  the 
nature  of  the  material  and  the  skill  of  the  artificers 
would  permit ;  and,  save  through  the  apertures  and 
windows  described,  was  impervious  to  a  musket  bullet 
It  was  sufficiently  spacious  for  the  population  of  the 
country,  as  it  then  stood,  and  the  barrier  made  by 
the  high  pickets  on  either  side  was  itself  no  mean 
resistance  in  a  sudden  fray.  A  single  entrance  to  the 
right  area  gave  access  to  the  building,  through  a  door, 
the  only  one  which  it  possessed,  opening  in  that 
quarter.  The  gate  was  usually  of  oak,  but  in  the 
present  instance  it  was  wanting  entirely,  having  been 
probably  torn  off  and  carried  away  by  some  of  the 
borderers,  who  found  more  use  for  it  than  for  the  for- 
tress. In  sundry  respects  besides,  the  friendly  rela- 
tions existing  between  the  whites  and  Indians  had 
contributed  to  its  dilapidation,  and  the  want  of  trifling 
occasional  repairs  had  not  immaterially  helped  its 
decay. 

From  the  Block  House,  which  Sanutee  examined 
both  within  and  without  with  no  little  attention  and 
some  show  of  discontent,  he  proceeded  towards  the 
river.  A  little  duck-like  thing — a  sort  of  half  schooner, 
but  of  very  different  management  and  rigging,  lay  in 
the  stream,  seemingly  at  anchor.  There  was  no  show 
of  men  on  board,  but  at  a  little  distance  from  her  a 
boat  rowed  by  two  sailors,  and  managed  by  a  third, 
was  pulling  vigorously  up  stream.  The  appearance 
of  this  vessel,  which  he  had  now  seen  for  the  first 
time,  seemed  to  attract  much  of  his  attention ;  but  as 
there  was  no  mode  of  communication,  and  as  she 
showed  no  flag,  he  was  compelled  to  stifle  his  curiosity, 
from  whatever  cause  it  might  have  sprung.  Leaving  the 
spot,  therefore,  after  a  brief  examination,  he  plunged 
once  more  into  the  forest,  and  as  he  took  his  way 
homeward,  with  more  seeming  earnestness  than  before, 
he  urg  a;  bis  dog  upon  the  scent,  while  unslinging  his 
bow,  and  tightening  the  sinew  until  the  elastic  yew 
trembled  at  the  slight  pressure  which  he  gave  it ;  then 


THE    YEMASSEE.  29 

choosing  carefully  the  arrows,  three  in  number,  which 
he  released  from  the  string  that  bound  the  rest,  he 
seemed  now  for  the  first  time  to  prepare  himself  in 
good  earnest  for  the  hunt.  In  thus  wandering  from 
cover  to  cover,  he  again  passed  the  greater  number  of 
the  white  settlements,  and  in  the  course  of  a  couple  of 
hours,  had  found  his  way  to  a  spacious  swamp,  formed 
by  the  overflow  of  the  river  immediately  at  hand,  and 
familiarly  known  to  the  warrior  as  a  great  hiding-place 
for  game.  He  perceived  at  this  point  that  the  senses 
of  the  intelligent  dog  became  quickened  and  forward, 
and  grasping  him  by  the  slack  skin  of  the  neck,  he  led 
him  to  a  tussock  running  along  at  the  edge  of  the 
swamp,  and  in  a  zigzag  course  passing  through  it,  and 
giving  him  a  harking  cheer  common  to  the  hunters,  he 
left  him  and  made  a  rapid  circuit  to  an  opposite  point, 
where  a  ridge  of  land,  making  out  from  the  bosom  of 
the  swamp,  and  affording  a  freer  outlet,  was  generally 
known  as  a  choice  stand  for  the  affrighted  and  fugitive 
deer.  He  had  not  long  reached  the  point  and  taken 
cover,  before,  stooping  to  the  earth,  he  detected  the  dis- 
tant baying  of  the  dog,  in  anxious  scent,  keeping  a 
direct  course,  and  approaching,  as  was  the  usual  habit, 
along  the  little  ridge  upon  the  border  of  which  he 
stood.  Sinking  back  suddenly  from  sight,  he  crouched 
beside  a  bush,  and  placing  his  shaft  upon  the  string, 
and  giving  all  ear  to  the  sounds  which  now  continued 
to  approach,  he  stood  in  readiness  for  his  victim.  In 
another  moment  and  the  boughs  gave  way,  the  broken 
branches  were  whirled  aside  in  confusion,  and  breaking 
forth  with  headlong  bound  and  the  speed  of  an  arrow, 
a  fine  buck  of  full  head  rushed  down  the  narrow  ridge 
and  directly  on  the  path  of  the  Indian.  With  his  ap- 
pearance the  left  foot  of  the  hunter  was  advanced,  the 
arrow  was  drawn  back  until  the  barb  chafed  upon  the 
elastic  yew,  then  whizzing,  with  a  sharp  twang  and  most 
unerring  direction,  it  penetrated  in  another  instant  the 
brown  sides  of  the  precipitate  animal.  A  convulsive  and 
upward  leap  testified  the  sudden  and  sharp  pang  which 
he  felt ;  but  he  kept  on.  and  just  at  the  moment  when 
3* 


30  THE    YEMASSEE, 

Samitee,  having  fitted  another  arrow,  was  about  to 
complete  what  he  had  so  well  begun,  a  gunshot  rung 
from  a  little  copse  directly  in  front  of  him,  to  which  the 
deer  had  been  flying  for  shelter;  and,  with  a  reeling 
stagger  which  completely  arrested  his  unfinished  leap, 
the  victim  sunk,  sprawling  forward  upon  the  earth,  in 
the  last  agonies  of  death. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

**  This  man  is  not  of  us — his  ways  are  strange,        S 
And  his  looks  stranger.    Wherefore  does  he  come — 
What  are  his  labours  here,  his  name,  his  purpose, 
And  who  are  they  that  know  and  speak  for  him?" 

The  incident  just  narrated  had  scarcely  taken  plao^ , 
when  the  dog  of  the  Indian  chief  bounded  from  ths 
cover,  and  made  toward  the  spot  where  the  deer  lay 
prostrate.  At  the  same  instant,  emerging  from  the 
copse  whence  the  shot  had  proceeded,  and  which  ran 
immediately  alongside  the  victim,  came  forward  the 
successful  sportsman.  He  was  a  stout,  strange  look- 
ing person,  rough  and  weather-beaten,  had  the  air, 
and  wore  a  dress  fashioned  something  like  that  of 
the  sailor.  He  was  of  middle  stature,  stout  and  mus- 
cular, and  carried  himself  with  the  yawing,  see-saw 
motion,  which  marks  the  movements  generally  upon 
land  of  that  class  of  men.  Still,  there  was  some- 
thing about  him  that  forbade  the  idea  of  his  being  a 
common  seaman.  There  was  a  daring  insolence  of 
look  and  gesture,  which,  taken  in  connexion  with  the 
red,  full  face,  and  the  watery  eye,  spoke  of  indul- 
gences and  a  habit  of  unrestraint  somewhat  inconsis- 
tent with  one  not  accustomed  to  authority.  His  dress, 
though  that  of  the  sailor — for  even  at  that  early  period 
the  style  of  garment  worn  by  this,  differed  from  that 
of  all  other  classes — was  yet  clean,  and  made  of  the 


THE    YEMASSEE.  31 

finest  material.  He  wore  a  blue  jacket,  studded 
thickly  with  buttons  that  hung  each  by  a  link,  and  formed 
so  many  pendent  knobs  of  solid  gold ;  and  there 
w£a  not  a  little  ostentation  in  the  thick  and  repeated 
folds  of  the  Spanish  chain,  made  of  the  same  rich 
material,  which  encircled  his  neck.  His  pantaloons, 
free  like  the  Turkish,  were  also  of  a  light  blue  cloth, 
and  a  band  of  gold  lace  ran  down  upon  the  outer  seam 
of  each  leg,  from  the  hip  to  the  heel.  A  small  dirk, 
slightly  curved,  like  that  worn  by  the  young  officers  of 
our  navy  in  modern  times,  was  the  only  apparent 
weapon  which  he  carried,  beyond  the  short,  heavy 
Dutch  fusil  he  had  just  used  so  successfully. 

The  deer  had  scarcely  fallen  when  this  personage  ad- 
vanced toward  him  from  the  wood.  The  shot  had  been 
discharged  at  a  trifling  distance  from  the  object,  which 
was  pushing  for  the  direct  spot  where  the  stranger 
had  been  stationed.  It  had  penetrated  the  breast,  and 
was  almost  instantly  fatal.  A  few  moments  served  to 
bring  him  to  his  victim,  while  Sanutee  from  the  other 
end  of  the  copse  also  came  forward.  Before  either 
of  them  had  got  sufficiently  nigh  to  prevent  him,  the 
dog  of  the  chief,  having  reached  the  deer,  at  once, 
with  the  instinct  of  his  nature,  struck  his  teeth  into 
his  throat,  tearing  it  voraciously  for  the  blood,  which 
the  Indian  sportsmen  invariably  taught  him  to  relish. 
The  stranger  bellowed  to  him  with  the  hope  to 
arrest  his  appetite,  and  prevent  him  from  injuring  the 
moat;  but,  accustomed  as  the  dog  had  been  to  obey 
but  one  master,  and  to  acknowledge  but  a  single  lan- 
guage, he  paid  no  attention  to  the  cries  and  threats  of 
the  seaman,  who  now,  hurrying  forward  with  a  show 
of  more  unequivocal  authority,  succeeded  only  in  trans- 
ferring the  ferocity  of  the  dog  from  his  prey  to  himself. 
Lifting  his  gun,  he  threatened  but  to  strike,  and  the 
animal  sprang  furiously  upon  him.  Thus  assailed,  the 
stranger,  in  good  earnest,  with  a  formidable  blow  from 
the  butt  of  his  fusil,  sent  the  enemy  reeling ;  but  re- 
covering in  an  instant,  without  any  seeming  abate- 
ment of  vigour,  with  a  ferocity  duly  increased  from 


32  THE    YEMAS8EE. 

his  injury,  he  flew  with  more  desperation  than  ever  to 
the  assault,  and,  being  a  dog  of  considerable  strength, 
threatened  to  become  a  formidable  opponent.  But 
the  man  assailed  was  a  cool,  deliberate  person,  and 
familiar  with  enemies  of  every  description. — Adroitly 
avoiding  the  dash  made  at  his  throat  by  the  animal,  he 
contrived  to  grapple  with  him  as  he  reached  the  earth, 
and  by  a  single  hand,  with  an  exercise  of  some  of 
the  prodigious  muscle  which  his  appearance  showed 
him  to  possess,  he  held  him  down,  while  with  the 
other  hand  he  deliberately  released  his  dirk  from  its 
sheath.  Sanutee,  who  was  approaching,  and  who  had 
made  sundry  efforts  to  call  off  the  infuriated  dog,  now 
cried  out  to  the  seaman  in  broken  English,  "  Knife  him 
not,  white  man — it  is  good  dog,  knife  him  not."  But 
he  spoke  too  late ;  and  in  spite  of  all  the  struggles 
of  the  animal,  with  a  fierce  laugh  of  derision,  the 
sailor  passed  the  sharp  edge  of  the  weapon  over  his 
throat ;  then  releasing  his  hold  upon  him,  which  all 
the  while  he  had  maintained  with  the  most  iron  inflex- 
ibility of  nerve,  he  left  the  expiring  dog,  to  which  the 
stroke  had  been  fatal,  to  perish  on  the  grass. 

It  was  fortunate  for  himself  that  he  was  rid  of  the 
one  assailant  so  soon  ;  for  he  had  barely  returned  his 
knife  to  its  sheath,  and  resumed  his  erect  posture,  when 
Sanutee,  who  had  beheld  the  whole  struggle — which, 
indeed,  did  not  occupy  but  a  few  minutes — plunged  for- 
ward as  furiously  as  the  animal  had  done,  and  the  n*  ■ 
instant  was  upon  the  stranger.  The  Indian  ha'3,  nur- 
ried  forward  to  save  his  dog;  and  his  feelin^,  roused 
into  rage  by  what  he  had  witnessed,  took  from  him 
much  of  that  cautious  consideration,  at  the  moment, 
which  an  Indian  commonly  employs  the  more  securely 
to  effect  his  revenge  ;  and  with  a  cry  of  ferocious  indig 
nation,  throwing  aside  the  bow  which  rather  impeded 
his  movements,  he  grappled  the  seaman  with  an  em- 
brace which  might  have  compelled  even  the  native 
bear  to  cry  quarter.  But  the  sailor  was  bold  and  fear- 
less, and  it  was  soon  evident  that  Sanutee,  though 
muscular  and  admirably  built,  but  tall  and  less  com- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  33 

pact,  laboured  of  necessity  under  a  disadvantage  in  the 
close  struggle  which  ensued,  with  one  so  much  shorter 
and  more  closely  set.  The  conditions  of  the  combat 
seemed  to  be  perfectly  well  understood  by  both  par- 
ties ;  for,  with  the  exception  of  an  occasional  exclama- 
tion from  one  or  the  other  in  the  first  movements  of 
the  struggle,  no  words  passed  between  them.  Their 
arms  were  interlaced,  and  their  bodies  closely  locked 
for  a  desperate  issue,  without  parley  or  prepara- 
tion. At  first  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  say 
which  of  the  two  could  possibly  prove  the  better  man. 
The  symmetry  of  the  Indian,  his  manly  height,  and 
free  carriage,  would  necessarily  incline  the  spectator 
in  his  favour;  but  there  was  a  knotted  firmness,  a 
tough,  sinewy  bulk  of  body  in  the  whole  make  of  his 
opponent,  which,  in  connexion  with  his  greater  youth, 
would  bring  the  odds  in  his  favour.  If  the  sailor  was 
the  stronger,  however,  the  Indian  had  arts  which  for  a 
time  served  to  balance  his  superiority;  but  Sanutee 
was  exasperated,  and  this  was  against  him.  His 
enemy  had  all  the  advantage  of  perfect  coolness,  and 
a  watchful  circumspection  that  seemed  habitual,  still 
defeated  in  great  part  the  subtleties  of  his  assail- 
ant The  error  of  Sanutee  was  in  suffering  impulse 
to  defeat  reflection,  which  necessarily  came  too  late, 
once  engaged  in  the  mortal  struggle.  The  Indian, 
save  in  the  ball-play,  is  no  wrestler  by  habit.  There 
he  may  and  does  wrestle,  and  death  is  sometimes  the 
consequence  of  the  furious  emulation  ;*  but  such  exer- 
cise is  otherwise  unpractised  with  the  aborigines. 
To  regret  his  precipitation,  however,  was  now  of  little 
avail — to  avoid  its  evils  was  the  object. 

One  circumstance  now  gave  a  turn  to  the  affair, 
which  promised  a  result  decisive  on  one  side  or  the 
other.  So  close  had  been  the  grasp,  so  earnest  the 
struggle,  that  neither  of  them  could  attempt  to  free 
and  employ  his  knife  without  giving  a  decided  ad- 

*  In  a  fair  struggle,  engaged  in  this  manly  exercise,  to  kill  the 
antagonist  is  legitimate  with  the  Tndians  generally ;  all  other  forms 
of  murder  call  for  revenge  and  punishment. 


34  THE    YEMASSEE. 

vantage  to  his  enemy  ;  but  in  one  of  those  move- 
ments which  distorted  their  bodies,  until  the  ground 
was  nearly  touched  by  the  knees  of  both,  the  knife  of 
the  Indian  warrior  fell  from  its  sheath,  and  lay  beside 
them  upon  the  turf.  To  secure  its  possession  was 
the  object,  upon  which,  simultaneously  as  it  were, 
their  eyes  were  cast ;  but  duly  with  the  desire  came 
the  necessity  of  mutual  circumspection,  and  so  well 
aware  were  they  both  of  this  necessity,  that  it  is  proba- 
ble, but  for  an  unlooked-for  circumstance,  the  battle 
must  have  been  protracted  sufficiently  long,  by  ex- 
hausting both  parties,  to  have  made  it  a  drawn  one. 
The  affair  might  then  have  ended  in  a  compromise  ; 
but  it  so  happened,  that  in  the  perpetual  change  of 
ground  and  position  by  the  combatants,  the  foot  of  Sa- 
nutee  at  length  became  entangled  with  the  body  of 
his  dog.  As  he  felt  the  wrinkling  skin  glide,  and  the 
ribs  yield  beneath  him,  an  emotion  of  tenderness,  a 
sort  of  instinct,  operated  at  once  upon  him,  and,  as  if 
fearing  to  hurt  the  object,  whose  utter  insensibility  he 
did  not  seem  at  that  moment  to  recollect,  he  drew  up 
the  foot  suddenly,  and  endeavoured  to  throw  it  over 
the  animal.  By  separating  his  legs  with  this  object, 
he  gave  his  adversary  an  advantage,  of  which  he 
did  not  fail  to  avail  himself.  With  the  movement 
of  Sanutee,  he  threw  one  of  his  knees  completely  be- 
tween those  of  the  warrior,  and  pressing  his  own  huge 
body  at  the  same  time  forward  upon  him,  they  both 
fell  heavily,  still  interlocked,  upon  the  now  completely 
crushed  carcass  of  the  dog.  The  Indian  chief  was 
partially  stunned  by  the  fall,  but  being  a-top,  the  sailor 
W3.s  unhurt.  In  a  moment,  recovering  himself  from 
the  relaxed  grasp  of  his  opponent,  he  rose  upon  his 
knee,  which  he  pressed  down  heavily  upon  Sanutee's 
bosom ;  the  latter  striving  vainly  to  possess  him- 
self of  the  tomahawk  sticking  in  his  girdle.  But  his 
enemy  had  too  greatly  the  advantage,  and  was  quite 
too  watchful  to  permit  of  his  succeeding  in  this  effort. 
The  whole  weight  of  one  knee  rested  upon  the  instru- 
ment, which  lay  in  the  belt  innocuous.    With  a  fearful 


THE    YEMASSEE.  35 

smile,  which  spoke  a  ferocious  exultation  of  spirit,  in 
the  next  moment  the  sailor  drew  the  dirk  knife  from 
his  own  side,  and  flourishing  it  over  the  eyes  of  the 
defenceless  Indian,  thus  addressed  him  : — 

"  And  what  do  you  say  for  yourself  now,  you  red- 
skinned  devil  1  Blast  your  eyes,  but  you  would  have 
taken  off  my  scalp  for  little  or  nothing — only  because 
of  your  confounded  dog,  and  he  at  my  throat  too. 
What  if  I  take  off  yours  ?" 

"  The  white  man  will  strike,"  calmly  responded  the 
chief,  while  his  eyes  looked  the  most  savage  indiffer 
ence,  and  the  lines  of  his  mouth  formed  a  play  of  ex- 
pression the  most  composed  and  natural. 

"  Ay,  damme,  but  I  will.  I'll  give  you  a  lesson  to 
keep  you  out  of  mischief,  or  I've  lost  reckoning  of  my 
own  seamanship.  Hark  ye  now,  you  red  devil — 
wherefore  did  you  set  upon  me  ?  Is  a  man's  blood  no 
better  than  a  dog's  ?" 

"  The  white  man  is  a  dog.  I  spit  upon  him,"  was 
the  reply ;  accompanied,  as  the  chief  spoke,  with  a 
desperate  struggle  at  release,  made  with  so  much  ear- 
nestness and  vigour  as  almost  for  a  few  moments  to 
promise  to  be  successful.  But  failing  to  succeed,  the 
attempt  only  served  seemingly  to  confirm  the  savage 
determination  of  his  conqueror,  whose  coolness  at 
such  a  moment,  more  perhaps  than  any  thing  beside, 
marked  a  character  to  whom  the  shedding  of  blood 
seemed  a  familiar  exercise.  He  spoke  to  the  victim 
he  was  about  to  strike  fatally,  with  as  much  composure 
as  if  treating  of  the  most  indifferent  matter. 

"  Ay,  blast  you,  you're  all  alike — there's  but  one 
way  to  make  sure  of  you,  and  that  is,  to  slit  your  gills 
whenever  there's  a  chance.  I  know  you'd  cut  mine 
soon  enough,  and  that's  all  I  want  to  know  to  make 
me  cut  yours.  Yet,  who  are  you — are  you  one  of  these 
Yemassees  ?  Tell  me  your  name ;  I  always  like  to 
know  whose  blood  I  let." 

"  Does  the  white  man  sleep  1 — strike,  I  do  not  shut 
my  eyes  to  your  knife.v 

"  Well,  d — n  it,  red-skin,  I  see  you  don't  want  tQ 


36  THE    YEMASSEE. 

get  off,  so  here's  at  you,"  making  a  stroke  of  hi& 
knife,  seemingly  at  the  throat  of  his  victim.  Sanutee 
threw  up  his  arm,  but  the  aim  in  this  quarter  had  been 
a  feint ;  for,  turning  the  direction  of  the  weapon,  he 
passed  the  sharp  steel  directly  upon  the  side  of  the 
warrior,  and  almost  immediately  under  his  own  knee. 
The  chief  discovered  the  deception,  and  feeling  that 
all  hope  was  over,  began  muttering,  with  a  seeming 
instinct,  in  hi§  own  language,  the  words  of  triumphant 
song,  which  every  Indian  prepares  beforehand  for  the 
hour  of  his  final  passage.  But  he  still  lived.  The 
blow  was  stayed :  his  enemy,  seized  by  some  one 
from  behind,  was  dragged  backward  from  the  body  of 
his  victim  by  another  and  a  powerful  hand."  The 
opportunity  to  regain  his  feet  was  not  lost  upon  the  In- 
dian, who,  standing  erect  with  his  bared  hatchet,  again 
confronted  his  enemy,  without  any  loss  of  courage, 
and  on  a  more  equal  footing. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  His  eye  hath  that  within  it  which  affirms 
The  noble  gentleman.     Pray  you,  mark  him  well ; 
Without  his  office  we  may  nothing  do 
Pleasing  to  this  fair  company." 

The  sailor  turned  fiercely,  dirk  in  hand,  upon  the 
person  who  had  thus  torn  him  from  his  victim  ;  but  he 
met  an  unflinching  front,  and  a  weapon  far  more  po- 
tent than  his  own.  The  glance  of  the  new  comer,  not 
less  than  his  attitude,  warned  him  of  the  most  perfect 
readiness ;  while  a  lively  expression  of  the  eye,  and 
the  something  of  a  smile  which  slightly  parted  his  lips, 
gave  a  careless,  cavalier  assurance  to  his  air,  which 
left  it  doubtful  whether,  in  reality,  he  looked  upon  a 
contest  as  even  possible  at  that  moment.  The  stran- 
ger was  about  thirty  years  old,  with  a  rich  European 
complexion,  a  light  blue  eye,  and  features  moulded 


THE    YEMASSEE.  6i 

finely,  so  as  to  combine  manliness  with  so  much  of 
beauty  as  may  well  comport  with  it.  He  was  proba 
bly  six  feet  in  height,  straight  as  an  arrow,  and  remarka- 
bly well  and  closely  set.  He  wore  a  dress  common 
among  the  gentlemen  of  that  period  and  place — a  sort 
of  compound  garb,  in  which  the  fashion  of  the  English 
cavalier  of  the  second  Charles  had  been  made  to  coa- 
lesce in  some  leading  particulars  with  that  which,  in 
the  American  forests,  seemed  to  be  imperatively  called 
for  by  the  novel  circumstances  and  mode  of  life  pre- 
vailing in  that  region.  The  over-coat  was  of  a  dark 
blue  stuff,  usually  worn  open  at  the  bosom,  and  dis- 
playing the  rich  folds  of  the  vest  below,  of  a  colour 
suited  to  the  taste  of  the  wearer,  but  which  on  the 
present  occasion  was  of  the  purest  white.  The  under- 
clothes were  of  a  light  gray,  fitting  closely  a  persen 
which  they  happily  accommodated  and  served  admira- 
bly to.  display.  His  buskins  were  like  those  worn  by 
the  Indians,  but  coining  higher  up  the  leg ;  and  with  a 
roll  just  above  the  ankle,  rather  wider,  but  not  unlike 
that  common  to  the  modern  boot.  A  broad  buckskin 
belt  encircled  his  waist,  and  secured  the  doublet  which 
came  midway  down  his  thigh.  In  his  hand  he  carried 
a  light  musketoon,  or  smoothbore,  of  peculiarly  grace- 
ful make  for  that  period,  and  richly  ornamented  with 
drops  of  silver  let  in  tastefully  along  the  stock,  so  as 
to  shape  vaguely  a  variety  of  forms  and  figures.  The 
long  knife  stuck  in  his  belt  was  the  only  other  weapon, 
which  he  appeared  to  carry ;  and  forming,  as  it  does, 
one  of  the  most  essential  implements  of  woodcraft,  wo 
may  scarcely  consider  it  under  that  designation.  A 
white  Spanish  hat,  looped  broadly  up  at  one  of  tho 
sides,  and  secured  with  a  small  button  of  gold,  rested 
slightly  upon  his  head,  from  which,  as  was  the  fashion 
of  the  time,  the  brown  hair  in  long  clustering  ringlets 
depended  about  the  neck. 

The  sailor,  as  we  have  said,  turned  immediately  upon 

the  person  who,  so  opportunely  for  Sanutee,  had  torn 

him  from  the  body  of  the  Indian ;  but  he  encountered 

the  presented  rifle,  and  the  clicking  of  the  cock  assured 

I  4 


38  THE    YEMASSEE. 

him  of  the  readiness  of  him  who  held  it  to  settle  ill 
farther  strife.  Apart  from  this,  he  saw  that  the  new 
comer  was  no  child — that  he  was  of  not  less  powerful 
make  than  the  Indian,  and  with  fewer  years  to  subtract 
from  it.  The  single  effort,  too,  by  which  he  had  been 
drawn  away  from  his  victim,  indicated  the  possession 
of  a  degree  of  strength  which  made  the  sailor  pause 
and  move  cautiously  in  his  advance  upon  the  intruder. 

"  Well,  master,"  said  the  seaman,  M  what  is  this 
matter  to  you,  that  you  must  meddle  in  other  men's 
quarrels  ?  Have  you  so  many  lives  to  spare  that  you 
must  turn  my  knife  from  the  throat  of  a  wild  savage  to 
your  own  ?" 

"Put  up  your  knife,  good  Pepperbox — put  it  up 
while  you  have  permission,"  said  the  person  so  ad- 
dressed, very  complaisantly,  "  and  thank  your  stars 
that  I  came  in  time  to  keep  you  from  doing  what  none 
of  us  might  soon  undo.  Know  you  not  the  chief — 
would  you  strike  the  great  chief  of  the  Yemassees — 
our  old  friend  Sanutee — the  best  friend  of  the  Eng- 
lish ?" 

"  And  who  the  devil  cares  whether  he  be  a  friend 
to  the  English  or  not  ?  I  don't ;  and  would  just  as 
lief  cut  his  throat  as  yours,  if  I  thought  proper.'' 

"  Indeed — why  you  are  a  perfect  Trojan — pray  who 
are  you,  and  where  did  you  come  from  ?"  was  the  cava- 
lier's response  to  the  brutal  speech  of  the  sailor,  whom 
every  word  of  the  last  speaker  seemed  to  arouse  into 
new  fury,  which  he  yet  found  it  politic  to  restrain  ;  for 
a  sense  of  moral  inferiority,  in  breeding  or  in  station, 
seemed  to  have  the  effect  of  keeping  down  and  quel- 
ling in  some  sort  the  exhibitions  of  a  temper  which 
otherwise  would  have  prompted  him  again  to  blows. 
The  pause  which  he  made  before  responding  to  the 
last  direct  inquiry,  seemed  given  to  reflection.  His 
manner  became  suddenly  more  moderate,  and  his 
glance  rested  frequently  and  with  an  inquiring  ex- 
pression upon  the  countenance  of  the  Indian.  At 
length,  giving  a  direct  reply  to  the  interrogatory  which 
seemed  a  yielding  of  the  strife,  he  replied, 


THE    YEMASSEE.  39 

"  And  suppose,  fair  master,  I  don't  choose  to  say 
who  I  am,  and  from  whence  I  came. — What  then?" 

"  Why  then  let  it  alone,  my  Hercules.  I  care  little 
whether  you  have  a  name  01  not.  You  certainly  can- 
not have  an  honest  one.  For  me  you  shall  be  Hercu- 
les or  Nebuchadnezzar — you  shall  be  Turk,  or  Ishma- 
elite,  or  the  devil — it  matters  not  whence  a  man.  comes 
when  it  is  easily  seen  where  he  will  go." 

The  countenance  of  the  sailor  grew  black  with  rage 
at  the  language  of  the  speaker,  not  less  than  at  hi1? 
cool,  laughing,  contemptuous  manner.  But  the  pro- 
cess of  thinking  himself  into  composure  and  caution 
going  on  in  his  mind  for  necessary  purposes,  seemed 
to  teach  hira  consideration  ;  and  leisurely  proceeding 
to  reload  his  fusil,  he  offered  no  interruption  to  the 
Englishman,  who  now  addressed  himself  to  the  Indian. 

"  You  have  suffered  a  loss,  Sanutee,  and  I'm  sorry 
for  it,  chief*.  But  you  shall  have  another — a  dog  of 
mine, — a  fine  pup  which  I  have  in  Charlestown.  When 
will  you  go  down  to  see  your  English  brother  at 
Charlestown  ?" 

"  Who  is  the  brother  of  Sanutee  V 

"  The  governor — you  have  never  seen  him,  and  he 
would  like  to  see  you.  If  you  go  not  to  see  him,  he 
will  think  you  love  him  not,  and  that  you  lie  on  the 
same  blanket  with  his  enemies." 

"  Sanutee  is  the  chief  of  the  Yemassees — he  will 
stay  at  Pocota-ligo  with  his  people." 

"  Well,  be  it  so.  I  shall  bring  you  the  dog  to  Pocota- 
ligo." 

"  Sanutee  asks  no  dog  from  the  warrior  of  the  Eng- 
lish. The  dog  of  the  English  hunts  after  the  dark- 
skin  of  my  people." 

"  No,  no — chief.  I  don't  mean  to  give  you  Dugdale. 
Dugdale  never  parts  with  his  master,  if  I  can  help  it ; 
but  you  say  wrong.  The  dog  of  the  English  has  never 
hunted  the  Yemassee  warrior.  He  has  only  hunted 
the  Savannahs  and  the  Westoes,  who  were  the  ene- 
mies of  the  English." 

"  The  eyes  of  Sanutee  are  good — he  has  seen  the 
dog  of  the  English  tear  the  throat  of  his  brqther." 


40  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  Well,  you  will  see  the  dog  I  shall  bring  yon  to 
Pocota-ligo." 

"  Sanutee  would  not  see  the  young  brave  of  the 
English  at  Pocota-ligo.  Pocota-ligo  is  for  the  Yemas- 
sees.     Let  the  Coosaw-kiiler  come  not.'' 

"  Hah  !  What  does  all  this  mean,  Sanutee  ?  Are  we 
not  friends  ?  Are  not  the  Yemassee  and  the  English 
two  brothers,  that  take  the  same  track,  and  have  the 
same  friends  and  enemies  ?     Is  it  not  so,  Sanutee  ?" 

"  Speaks  the  young  chief  with  a  straight  tongue — he 
says." 

"  I  speak  truth  ;  and  will  come  to  see  you  in  Pocota- 
ligo." 

"  No — the  young  brave  will  come  not  to  Pocota-ligo. 
It  is  the  season  of  the  corn,  and  the  Yemassee  will 
gather  to  the  festival." 

"  The  green  corn  festival !  I  must  be  there,  Sanu- 
tee, and  you  must  not  deny  me.  You  were  not  wont 
to  be  so  inhospitable,  chief;  nor  will  I  suffer  it  now. 
I  would  see  the  lodge  of  the  great  chief.  I  would  par- 
take of  the  venison— some  of  this  fine  buck,  which  the 
hands  of  Matiwan  will  dress  for  the  warrior's  board 
at  evening." 

"  You  touch  none  of  that  buck,  either  of  you  ;  so 
be  not  so  free,  young  master.  It's  my  game,  and  had 
the  red-skin  been  civil,  he  should  have  had  his  share 
in  it ;  but,  as  it  is,  neither  you  nor  he  lay  hands  on 
it;  not  a  stiver  of  it  goes  into  your  hatch,  d — n  me." 

The  sailor  had  listened  with  a  sort  of  sullen  indif- 
ference to  the  dialogue  which  had  been  going  on  be- 
tween Sanutee  and  the  new  comer  ;  but  his  looks  in- 
dicated impatience  not  less  than  sullenness ;  and  he 
took  the  opportunity  afforded  him  by  the  last  words 
of  the  latter,  to  gratify,  by  the  rude  speech  just  given, 
the  malignity  of  his  excited  temper. 

"  Why,  how  now,  churl  ?"  was  the  response  of  the 
Englishman,  turning  suddenly  upon  the  seaman,  with 
a  haughty  indignation  as  he  spoke — "  how  now,  churl  ? 
is  this  a  part  of  the  world  where  civility  is  so  plenty 
that  you  must   Sght  to  avoid  a  surfeit.     Hear  you, 


THE    YEMASSEE.  41 

sirrah  ;  these  woods  have  bad  birds  for  the  unruly,  and 
you  may  find  them  hard  to  get  through  if  you  put  not 
more  good-humour  under  your  tongue.  Take  your 
meat,  for  a  surly  savage  as  you  are,  and  be  off  as 
quick  as  you  can ;  and  may  the  first  mouthful  choke 
you.  Take  my  counsel,  Bully-boy,  and  clear  your 
joints,  or  you  may  chance  to  get  more  of  your  merits 
than  your  venison." 

"  Who  the  devil  are  you,  to  order  me  off?  I'll  go  a* 
my  pleasure  ;  and  as  for  the  Indian,  and  as  for  you — " 

"  What,  Hercules  V 

"  I'll  mark  you  both,  or  there's  no  sea-room." 

"  Well,  as  you  please,"  coolly  replied  the  English- 
man to  the  threat, — "  as  you  please  ;  and  now  that  you 
have  made  your  speech,  will  you  be  good-natured  for 
a  moment,  and  let  your  absence  stand  for  your  civility  ?" 

"  No— I'll  be  d— d  if  I  do,  for  any  man." 

"  You'll  be  something  more  than  d — d,  old  boy,  if 
you  stay.  We  are  two,  you  see  ;  and  here's  my  Hec- 
tor, who's  a  little,  old  to  be  sure,  but  is  more  than  your 
match  now" — and  as  the  Englishman  spoke,  he  point- 
ed to  the  figure  of  a  sturdy  black,  approaching  the 
group  from  the  copse. 

"And  I  care  not  if  you  were  two  dozen.  You 
don't  capsize  me  with  your  numbers,  and  I  shan't  go 
till  it  suits  my  pleasure,  for  either  red-skin,  or  white 
skin,  or  black  skin  ;   no,  not  while  my  name  is — " 

"  What  ?"  was  the  inquiry  of  the  Englishman,  as 
the  speaker  paused  at  the  unuttered  name  ;  but  the 
person  addressed  smiled  contemptuously  at  the  curi- 
osity which  the  other  had  exhibited,  and  turned  slightly 
away.  As  he  did  so,  the  Englishman  again  ad- 
dressed Sanutee,  and  proposed  returning  with  him  to 
Pocota-ligo.  His  anxiety  on  this  point  was  clearly 
enough  manifest  to  the  Indian,  who  replied  sternly, 

■'  The  chief  Avill  go  alone.  He  wants  not  that  the 
Coosaw-killer  should  darken  the-  lodge  of  Matiwan. 
Let  Harrison" — and  as  he  addressed  the  Englishman 
by  his  name,  he  placed  his  hand  kindly  upon  his  shoul- 
der, and  his  tones  were  more  conciliatory — "  let  Har- 
4* 


42  THE    YEMASSEE. 

rison  go  down  to  his  ships — let  him  go  with  the  pale- 
faces to  the  other  lands.     Has  he  not  a  mother  tha 
looks  for  him  at  evening?" 

"  Sanutee,"  said  Harrison,  fixing  his  eye  upon  him 
curiously — "  wherefore  should  the  English  go  upon 
the  waters  ?" 

"  The  Yemassees  would  look  on  the  big  woods,  and 
call  them  their  own.  The  Yemassees  would  be 
free." 

"  Old  chief — "  exclaimed  the  Englishman,  in  a 
stern  but  low  tone,  while  his  quick,  sharp  eye  seemed 
to  explore  the  very  recesses  of  the  Indian's  soul — 
"  Old  chief — thou  hast  spoken  with  the  Spaniard." 

The  Indian  paused  for  an  instant,  but  showed  no 
signs  of  emotion  or  consciousness  at  a  charge,  which, 
at  that  period,  and  under  the  then  existing  circum- 
stances, almost  involved  the  certainty  of  his  hostility 
towards  the  Carolinians,  with  whom  the  Spaniards  of 
Florida  were  perpetually  at  war.  He  replied,  after  an 
instant's  hesitation,  in  a  calm,  fearless  manner  : — 

"  Sanutee  is  a  man — he  is  a  father — he  is  a  chief 
— the  great  chief  of  the  Yemassee.  Shall  he  come 
to  the  Coosaw-killer,  and  ask  when  he  would  loose 
his  tongue  ?  Sanutee,  when  the  swift  hurricane  runs 
along  the  woods,  goes  into  the  top  of  the  tall  pine, 
and  speaks  boldly  to  the  Manneyto — shall  he  not 
speak  to  the  English — shall  he  not  speak  to  the  Span- 
iard ?  Does  Harrison  see  Sanutee  tremble,  that  his  eye 
Jooke  down  into  his  bosom  ?     Sanutee  has  no  fear." 

"  I  know  it,  chief — I  know  it — but  I  would  have 
you  without  guile  also.  There  is  something  wrong, 
chief,  which  you  will  not  show  me.  I  would  speak  to 
you  of  this,  therefore  I  would  go  with  you  to  Pocota- 
ligo-  . 

"  Pocota-ligo  is  for  the  Manneyto — it  is  holy  ground 
— the  great  feast  of  the  green  corn  is  there.  The  white 
man  may  not  go  when  the  Yemassee  would  be  alone." 

"  But  white  men  are  in  Pocota-ligo — is  not  Granger 
there,  the  fur  trader  ?" 

"  He  will  go,"  replied  the  chief,  evasively,  and  turn- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  43 

ing  away,  as  he  did  so,  to  depart ;  but  suddenly,  with 
an  air  of  more  interest,  returning  to  the  spot  where 
Harrison  stood,  seemingly  meditating  deeply,  he  again 
touched  his  arm,  and  spoke — 

"  Harrison  will  go  down  to  the  great  lakes  with  his 
people.  Does  the  Coosaw-killer  hear  1  Samitee  is 
the  wise  chief  of  Yemassee." 

"  I  am  afraid  the  wise  chief  of  Yemassee  is  about 
10  do  a  great  folly.  But,  for  the  present,  Sanutee,  let 
there  be  no  misunderstanding  between  us  and  our  peo- 
ple.    Is  there  any  thing  of  which  you  complain]" 

"  Did  Sanutee  come  on  his  knees  to  the  English  ? 
He  begs  not  bread — he  asks  for  no  blanket." 

"  True,  Sanutee,  I  know  all  that — I  know  your 
pride,  and  that  of  your  people  ;  and  because  I  know 
it,  if  you  have  had  wrong  from  our  young  men,  I 
would  have  justice  done  you." 

"  The  Yemassee   is  not  a  child — he  is   strong,  he 

has  knife  and  hatchet — and  his  arrow  goes  straight  to 

the  heart.    He  begs  not  for  the  justice  of  the  English-;—" 

"  Yet,  whether  you   beg  for  it  or  not,  what  wrong 

have  they  done  you,  that  they  have  not  been  sorry  ?" 

"  Sorry — will  sorry  make  the  dog  of  Sanutee  to 
live  ?" 

"  There  you  are  wrong,  Sanutee  ;  the  dog  assaulted 
the  stranger,  and  though  he  might  have  been  more 
gentle,  and  less  hasty,  what  he  did  seems  to  have 
been  done  in  self-defence.  The  deer  was  his  game." 
"  Ha,  does  Harrison  see  the  arrow  of  Sanutee  V 
and  he  pointed  to  the  broken  shaft  still  sticking  in  the 
side  of  the  animal. 

"  True,  that  is  your  mark,  and  would  have  been  fatal 
after  a  time,  without  the  aid  of  gunshot.  The  other 
was  more  immediate  in  effect." 

"  It  is  well.  Sanutee  speaks  not  for  the  meat,  nor 
for  the  dog.  He  begs  no  justice  from  the  English, 
and  their  braves  may  go  to  the  far  lands  in  their  canoes, 
or  they  may  hold  fast  to  the  land  which  is  the  Yemas- 
see's.  The  sun  and  the  storm  are  brothers — Sanutee 
has  said." 


44  THE    YEMASSEE. 

Harrison  was  about  to  reply,  when  his  eye  caught 
the  outline  of  another  person  approaching  the  scene. 
He  was  led  to  observe  him,  by  noticing  the  glance  of 
the  sailor  anxiously  fixed  in  the  same  direction.  That 
personage  had  cooled  off"  singularly  in  his  savagenes? 
of  mood,  and  had  been  a  close  and  attentive  listener 
to  the  dialogue  just  narrated.  His  earnestness  had 
not  passed  unobserved  by  the  Englishman,  whose  keen- 
ness of  sense,  not  less  than  of  vision,  had  discovered 
something  more  in  the  manner  of  the  sailor  than  was 
intended  for  the  eye.  Following  closely  his  gaze, 
while  still  arguing  with  Sanutee,  he  discovered  in  the 
new  comer  the  person  of  one  of  the  most  subtle 
chiefs  of  the  Yemassee  nation — a  dark,  brave,  col- 
lected malignant,  by  name  Ishiagaska.  A  glance  of 
recognition  passed  over  the  countenance  of  the  sailor, 
but  the  features  of  the  savage  were  immoveable. 
Harrison  watched  both  of  them,  as  the  new  comer  ap- 
proached, and  he  was  satisfied  from  the  expression 
of  the  sailor  that  they  knew  each  other.  Once  assured 
of  this,  he  determined  in  his  own  mind  that  his 
presence  should  offer  no  sort  of  interruption  to  their 
freedom ;  and,  with  a  few  words  to  Ishiagaska  and 
Sanutee,  in  the  shape  of  civil  wishes  and  a  passing 
inquiry,  the  Englishman,  who,  from  his  past  conduct 
in  the  war  of  the  Carolinians  with  the  Coosaws,  had 
acquired  among  the  Yemassees,  according  to  the  Indian 
fashion,  the  imposing  epithet,  so  frequently  used  in 
the  foregoing  scene  by  Sanutee,  of  Coosah-moray-te — 
or,  as  it  has  been  Englished,  the  killer  of  the  Coosaws 
— took  his  departure  from  the  scene,  followed  by  the 
black  slave  Hector.  As  he  left  the  group  he  approach- 
ed the  sailor,  who  stood  a  little  apart  from  the  Indians, 
and  with  a  whisper,  addressed  him  in  a  sentence  which 
he  intended  should  be  a  test. 

"  Hark  ye,  Ajax ;  take  safe  advice,  and  be  out  of  the 
woods  as  soon  as  you  can,  or  you  will  have  a  long 
arrow  sticking  in  your  ribs." 

The  blunt  sense  of  the  sailor  did  not  see  farther 
than  the  ostensible  object  of  the  counsel  thus  conveyed, 


THE    YEMASSEE.  45 

and  his  answer  confirmed,  to  some  extent,  the  pre- 
vious impression  of  Harrison  touching  his  acquaint- 
ance with  Ishiagaska. 

"Keep  your  advice  for  a  better  occasion,  and  be 
d — d  to  you,  for  a  conceited  whipper-snapper  as  you 
are.  You  are  more  likely  to  feel  the  arrow  than  I  am, 
and  so  look  to  it." 

Harrison  noted  well  the  speech,  which  in  itself  had 
little  meaning  ;  but  it  conveyed  a  consciousness  of 
security  on  the  part  of  the  seaman,  after  his  previous 
combat  with  Sanutee,  greatly  out  of  place,  unless  he 
possessed  some  secret  resources  upon  which  to  rely. 
The  instant  sense  of  Harrison  readily  felt  this ;  but 
apart  from  that,  there  was  something  so  sinister  and 
so  assured  in  the  glance  of  the  speaker,  accompany- 
ing his  words,  that  Harrison  did  not  longer  doubt  the 
justice  of  his  conjecture.  He  saw  that  there  was 
business  between  the  seaman  and  the  last-mentioned 
Indian.  He  had  other  reasons  for  this  belief,  which 
the  progress  of  events  will  show.  Contenting  him- 
self with  what  had  been  said,  he  turned  away  with 
a  lively  remark  to  the  group  at  parting,  and,  followed 
by  Hector,  was  very  soon  deeply  buried  in  the  neigh- 
bouring forest. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  Go — scan  his  course,  pursue  him  to  the  last, 
Hear  what  he  counsels,  note  thou  well  his  glance. 
For  the  untutored  eye  hath  its  own  truth, 
When  the  tongue  speaks  in  falsehood." 

Harrison,  followed  closely  by  his  slave,  silently- 
entered  the  forest,  and  was  soon  buried  in  subjects 
of  deep  meditation,  which,  hidden  as  yet  from  us, 
were  in  his  estimation  of  paramount  importance.  His 
elastic   temper   and  perceptive    sense    failed  at  this 


46  THE    YEMA.SSEE. 

moment  to  suggest  to  him  any  of  those  thousand 
objects  of  contemplation  in  which  he  usually  took 
delight.  The  surrounding  prospect  was  unseen — 
the  hum  of  the  woods,  the  cheering  cry  of  bird  and 
grasshopper,  equally  unheeded ;  and  for  some  time 
after  leaving  the  scene  and  actors  of  the  preceding 
chapter,  he  continued  in  a  state  of  mental  abstraction, 
perfectly  mysterious  to  his  attendant.  Hector,  though 
a  slave,  was  a  favourite,  and  his  offices  were  rather 
those  of  the  humble  companion  than  of  the  servant. 
He  regarded  the  present  habit  of  his  master  with  no 
little  wonderment.  In  truth,  Harrison  was  not  often 
in  the  mood  to  pass  over  and  disregard  the  varieties  of 
the  surrounding  scenery,  in  a  world  so  new,  as  at  the 
present  moment.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  one  of 
those  men,  of  wonderful  common  sense,  who  could 
readily,  at  all  times,  associate  the  mood  of  most  ex- 
travagance and  life  with  that  of  the  most  every-day 
concern.  Cheerful,  animated,  playfully  and  soon  ex- 
cited, he  was  one  of  those  singular  combinations  we 
do  not  often  meet  with,  in  which  constitutional  enthu- 
siasm and  animal  life,  in  a  development  of  extrava- 
gance sometimes  little  short  of  madness,  are  singularly 
enough  mingled  up  with  a  capacity  equal  to  the  most 
trying  requisitions  of  necessity,  and  the  most  sober 
habits  of  reflection.  Unusually  abstracted  as  he  now 
appeared  to  the  negro,  the  latter,  though  a  favourite, 
knew  better  than  to  break  in  upon  his  mood,  and  sim- 
ply kept  close  at  hand,  to  meet  any  call  that  might  be 
made  upon  his  attention.  By  this  time  they  had 
reached  a  small  knoll  of  green  overlooking  the  river, 
which,  swollen  by  a  late  freshet,  though  at  its  full  and 
falling,  had  overflowed  its  banks,  and  now  ran  along 
with  some  rapidity  below  them.  Beyond  and  dowi 
the  stream,  a  few  miles  off,  lay  the  little  vessel  to 
which  we  have  already  given  a  moment's  attention. 
Her  presence  seemed  to  be  as  mysterious  in  the  eye 
of  Harrison,  as  in  a  previous  passage  it  had  appeared 
to  that  of  Sanutee.  Dimly  outlined  in  the  distance, 
a  slender  shadow  darkening  an  otherwise  clear  and 


THE    YEMASSEE.  47 

mirror-like  surface,  she  lay  sleeping,  as  it  were,  upon 
the  water,  not  a  sail*  in  motion,  and  no  gaudy  ensign 
streaming  from  her  tops. 

"  Hector,"  said  his  master,  calling  the  slave,  while 
he  threw  himself  lazily  along  the  knoll,  and  motioned, 
the  negro  near  him  :  "  Hector." 

"  Sa— Mossa." 

"  You  marked  that  sailor  fellow,  did  you  ?" 

"Yes,  Mossa." 

"  What  is  he  ;  what  do  you  think  of  him  !" 

"  Me  tink  noting  about  'em,  sa. — Nebber  see  'em 
afore — no  like  he  look." 

"  Nor  I,  Hector — nor  I.  He  comes  for  no  good, 
and  we  must  see  to  him." 

"  I  tiuk  so,  Mossa." 

"  Now— look  down  the  river.  When  did  that  strange 
vessel  come  np  V 

"  Nebber  see  'em  till  dis  morning,  Mossa,  but  speck 
he  come  up  yesserday.  Mass  Nichol.  de  doctor, 
wha'  talk  so  big— da  him  fuss  show  'em  to  me  dis 
morning." 

"  What  said  Nichols  V 

"  He  say  'twas  English  ship  ;  den  he  say  'twas  no 
English,  'twas  Dutch— but  he  soon  change  he  mind, 
and  say  'twas  little  Dutch  and  little  Spaniard :  after 
dat  he  make  long  speech  to  young  Mass  Grayson." 

"  What  said  Grayson?" 

"  He  laugh  at  de  doctor,  make  de  doctor  cross,  and 
den  he  cuss  me  for  a  dam  black  rascal." 

"  That  made  you  cross  too,  eh  V 

"  Certain,  Mossa ;  'cause  Mass  Nichol  hab  no  re- 
spectability for  nigger  in  'em,  and  talk  widout  make 
proper  osservation." 

"  Well,  no  matter.  But  did  Grayson  say  any  thing 
of  the  vessel ?" 

"  He  look  at  'em  well,  Mossa,  but  he  no  say  noting; 
but  wid  long  stick  he  write  letters  in  de  sand.  Dat 
young  Grayson,  Mass  Charles — he  strange  gentle- 
man— berry  strange  gentleman." 

"  How  often  must  I  tell  you,  Hector,  not  to  call  me 


48  THE    YEMASSEE. 

by  any  name   here  but  Gabriel  Harrison  ?    will  you 
never  remember,  you  scoundrel?*' 

"  Ax  pardon,  Mossa — 'member  next  time." 

"  Do  so,  old  boy,  or  we  quarrel : — and  now,  hark 
you,  Hector,  since  you  know  nothing  of  this  vessel, 
I'll  make  you  wiser.  Look  down  over  to  Moccasin 
Point — under  the  long  grass  at  the  edge,  and  half- 
covered  by  the  canes,  and  tell  me  what  you  see 
there  ?" 

"  Da  boat,  Mossa. — I  swear  da  boat.  Something 
dark  lie  in  de  bottom." 

"  That  is  a  boat  from  the  vessel,  and  what  you  see 
lying  dark  in  the  bottom,  are  the  two  sailors  that 
rowed  it  up.  That  sailor-fellow  came  in  it,  and  he  is 
the  captain.  Now,  what  does  he  come  for.,  do  you 
think  ?" 

"  Speck,  sa,  he  come  for  buy  skins  frq^i  de  Injins." 

"  No  :  — that  craft  is  no  trader.  She  carries  guns, 
but  conceals  them  with  box  and  paiiH.  She  is  built  to 
run  and  fight,  not  to  carry.  I  looked  on  her  closely 
this  morning.  Her  paint  is  Spanish,  not  English. 
Besides,  if  she  were  English,  what  would  she  be 
doing  here  I  Why  run  up  this  river,  without  stopping 
at  Charlestown  or  Port  Royal— why  keep  from  the  land- 
ing here,  avoiding  the  whites  ;  and  why  is  her  officer 
pushing  up  into  the  Indian  country  beyond  our  pur- 
chase ?" 

"  He  hab  'ting  for  sell  de  Injins,  I  speck,  Mossa." 

"  Scarcely — they  have  nothing  to  buy  with ;  it  is 
only  a  few  days  since  Granger  came  up  from  Port 
Royal,  where  he  had  carried  all  the  skins  of  their  last 
great  hunt,  and  it  will  be  two  weeks  at  least  before 
they  go  on  another.  No — no.  They  get  from  us  what 
we  are  willing  to  sell  them ;  and  this  vessel  brings 
them  those  things  which  they  cannot  get  from  us— 
fire-arms  and  ammunition,  Hector." 

"  You  tink  so,  Mossa." 

"  You  shall  find  out  for  both  of  us,  Hector.  Are 
your  eyes  open 


?" 


"  Yes  Mossa,  I  can  sing — 


THE    YEMASSEE.  49 

"  '  Possum  up  a  gum-tree, 
Racoon  in  de  hollow, 
In  de  grass  de  yellow  snake, 
In  de  clay  de  swallow.'  " 

"  Evidence  enough — now,  hear  me.  This  sailor 
fellow  comes  from  St.  Augustine,  and  brings  arms 
to  the  Yemassees.  I  know  it,  else  why  should  he 
linger  behind  with  Sanutee  and  Ishiagaska,  after  his 
quarrelling  with  the  old  chief,  unless  he  knew  of 
something  which  must  secure  his  protection  ?  I  saw 
his  look  of  recognition  to  Ishiagaska,  although  the 
savage,  more  cunning  than  himself,  kept  his  eye  cold — 
and — yes,  it  must  be  so.  You  shall  go,"  said  his 
master,  half  musingly,  half  direct.  "  You  shall  go. 
When  did  Granger  cross  to  Pocota-ligo  f" 

"  Dis  morning,  Mossa." 

"  Did  the  commissioners  go  with  him  I" 

"  No,  Mossa — only  tree  gentlemans  gone  wid 
him." 

"  Who  were  they  V: 

"  Sir  Edmund  Bellinger,  sa — lib  close  'pon  Ashee- 
poh — Mass  Stephen  Latham,  and  nodder — I  no  hab  he 
name." 

"  Very  well — they  will  answer  well  enough  for 
commissioners.     Where  have  you  left  Dugdale  ?" 

"  I  left*  um  wid  de  blacksmith,  Mossa — him  dat  lib 
down  pass  de  Chief  Bluff." 

"  Good ;  and  now,  Hector,  you  must  take  track  after 
this  sailor." 

"Off  hand,  Mossa?" 

"  Yes,  at  once.  Take  the  woods  here,  and  make 
the  sweep  of  the  cypress,  so  as  to  get  round  them. 
Keep  clear  of  the  river,  for  that  sailor  will  make  no 
bones  of  carrying  you  off  to  St.  Augustine,  or  to  the 
West  Indies.  Watch  if  he  goes  with  the  Indians. 
See  all  that  you  can  of  their  movements,  and  let  them 
not  see  you.  Should  they  find  you  out,  be  as  stupid 
as  a  pine  stump." 

"  And  whay  I  for  find  you,  Mossa,  when  I  come 
back?     At  de  parson's,  I  speck." — The  slave  smiled 

V«    I.  5 


50  THE    YEMASSEE. 

knowingly  as  he  uttered  the  last  member  of  the  sen- 
tence, and  looked  significantly  into  the  face  of  his 
master,  with  a  sidelong  glance,  his  mouth  at  the  same 
time  showing  his  full  white  tuscular  array  from  ear  to 
ear. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  his  master,  quietly  and  without 
seeming  to  observe  the  peculiar  expression  of  his  ser- 
vant's face — "  perhaps  so,  if  you  come  back  soon.  I 
shall  be  there  for  a  while,  but  to-night  you  will  proba- 
bly find  me  at  the  Block  House.  Away  now,  and  see 
that  you  sleep  not  with  your  eye  open  till  they  trap 
you." 

"  Ha,  Mossa.  Dat  eye  must  be  bright  like  de  moon 
for  trap  Hector." 

"  I  hope  so — keep  watchful,  for  if  that  sailor  fellow 
puts  hands  upon  you,  he  will  cut  your  throat  as 
freely  as  he  did  the  dog's,  and  probably  a  thought 
sooner." 

Promising  strict  watchfulness,  the  negro  took  his 
way  back  into  the  woods,  closely  following  the  direc- 
tions of  his  master.  Harrison,  in  the  meanwhile, 
having  despatched  this  duty  so  far,  rose  buoyantly  from 
the  turf,  and  throwing  aside  the  air  of  sluggishness 
which  for  the  last  half  hour  had  invested  him,  darted 
forward  in  a  fast  walk  in  the  direction  of  the  white 
settlements ;  still,  however,  keeping  as  nearly  as  he 
might,  to  the  banks  of  the  river,  and  still  with  an  eye 
that  closely  scanned  at  intervals  the  appearance  of 
the  little  vessel  which,  as  we  have  seen,  had  occasioned 
so  much  doubt  and  inquiry.  It  was  not  often  that  a 
vessel  of  her  make  and  size  had  been  seen  up  thai 
little,  insulated  river;  and  as,  from  the  knowledge  o\ 
Harrison,  there  could  be  little  or  no  motive  of  trade 
for  such  craft  in  that  quarter — the  small  business  in- 
tercourse of  the  whites  with  the  Indians  being  soor 
transacted,  and  through  mediums  far  less  imposing-  — 
the  suspicions  of  the  Englishman  were  not  a  little 
excited,  particularly  as  he  had  known  for  some  time 
the  increasing  discontent  of  the  savages.  The  fact. 
too,  that  the  vessel  was  a  stranger,  and  that  her  crew 


THE    YEMASSEE.  51 

and  captain  had  kept  studiously  aloof  from  the  whites, 
and  had  sent  their  boat  to  land  at  a  point  actually 
within  the  Indian  boundary,  was  of  itself  enough  to 
instigate  such  surmises.  The  ready  intelligence  of 
Harrison  at  once  associated  the  facts  and  inferences 
with  a  political  object :  and  being  also  aware  by 
previous  information  that  Spanish  guarda-costas,  as  the 
cutters  employed  at  St.  Augustine  for  the  protection 
of  the  coast  were  styled,  had  been  seen  to  put  into 
almost  every  river  and  creek  in  the  English  territory 
from  St.  Mary's  to  Hatteras,  and  within  a  short  period 
of  time,  the  connected  circumstances  were  well  calcula- 
ted to  excite  the  scrutiny  of  all  well-intentioned  citizens. 
The  settlement  of  the  English  in  Carolina,  though 
advancing  with  wonderful  rapidity,  was  yet  in  its 
infancy ;  and  the  great  jealousy  which  their  progress 
had  occasioned  in  the  minds  of  their  Indian  neighbours, 
was  not  a  little  stimulated  in  its  tenour  and  develop- 
ment by  the  artifices  of  the  neighbouring  Spaniards, 
as  well  of  St.  Augustine  as  of  the  Island  of  Cuba. 
The  utmost  degree  of  caution  against  enemies  so 
powerful  and  so  acted  upon  was  absolutely  necessary, 
and  we  shall  comprehend  to  its  full  the  extent  of  this 
consciousness,  after  repeated  sufferings  had  taught 
them  providence,  when  we  learn  from  the  historians 
that  it  was  not  long  from  this  period  when  the  settlers 
upon  the  coast  were  compelled  to  gather  oysters  for 
their  subsistence  with  one  hand,  while  carrying  fire- 
arms in  the  other  for  their  protection.  At  this  time, 
however,  unhappily  for  the  colony,  such  a  degree  of 
watchfulness  was  entirely  unknown.  Thoughtless  as 
ever,  the  great  mass  is  always  slow  to  note  and  pre- 
pare against,  those  forewarning  evidences  of  that 
change  which  is  at  all  times  going  on  around  them. 
The  counsellings  of  nature  and  of  experience  are 
seldom  heeded  by  the  inconsiderate  many  until  their 
promises  are  realized,  and  then  beyond  the  control 
which  would  have  converted  them  into  agents  with  the 
almost  certain  prospect  of  advantageous  results.  It  is 
fortunate,  perhaps,  for  mankind,  that  there  are  some  few 
C  9 


52  THE    YEMASSEE. 

minds  always  in  advance,  and  for  ever  preparing  the 
way  for  society,  perishing  freely  themselves  that  the 
species  may  have  victory.  Perhaps,  indeed,  patriotism 
itself  would  lack  something  of  its  stimulating  charactei, 
if  martyrdom  did  not  follow  its  labours  and  its  love 
for  man. 

Harrison,  active  in  perceiving,  decisive  in  providing 
against  events,  with  a  sort  of  intuition,  had  traced  out 
a  crowd  of  circumstances,  of  most  imposing  character 
and  number,  in  the  coming  hours,  of  which  few  if  any 
in  the  colony  beside  himself  had  any  idea.  He  an- 
nexed no  small  importance  to  the  seeming  trifle  ;  and 
his  mind  was  deeply  interested  in  all  the  changes 
going  on  in  the  province.  Perhaps  it  was  his  par- 
ticular charge  to  note  these  things — his  station,  pursuit 
— his  duty,  which,  by  imposing  upon  him  some  of  the 
leading  responsibilities  of  the  infant  society  in  which 
he  lived,  had  made  him  more  ready  in  such  an  ex- 
ercise than  was  common  among  those  around  him. 
On  this  point  we  can  now  say  nothing,  being  as  yet 
quite  as  ignorant  as  those  who  go  along  with  us.  As 
we  proceed  we  shall  probably  all  grow  wiser. 

As  Harrison  thus  rambled  downward  along  the 
river's  banks,  a  friendly  voice  hallooed  to  him  from  its 
bosom,  where  apettiauger,  urged  by  a  couple  of  sinewy 
rowers,  was  heaving  to  the  shore. 

"  Halloo,  captain,"  cried  one  of  the  men — "  I'm  so 
glad  to  see  you." 

"  Ah,  Grayson,"  he  exclaimed  to  the  one,  "  how 
do  you  fare  ?" — to  the  other,  "  Master  Grayson,  I  give 
you  courtesy." 

The  two  men  were  brothers,  and  the  difference  made 
in  Harrison's  address  between  the  two,  simply  indi- 
cated the  different  degrees  of  intimacy  between  them 
and  himself. 

"  We've  been  hunting,  captain,  and  have  had  glorious 
sport,"  said  the  elder  of  the  brothers,  known  as  Walter 
Grayson — "  two  fine  bucks  and  a  doe — shall  we  have 
you  to  sup  with  us  to-night  V 

"  Hold  me  willing,  Grayson,  but  not  ready.     I  have 


THE    YEMASSEE.  53 

labours  for  to-night  will  keep  me  from  you.  But  I 
shall  tax  your  hospitality' before  the  venison's  out. 
Make  my  respects  to  the  old  lady,  your  mother  ;  and 
if  you  can  let  me  see  you  at  the  Block  House  to- 
morrow, early  morning,  do  so,  and  hold  me  indebted." 

"  I  will  be  there,  captain,  God  willing,  and  shall  do 
as  you  ask.     I'm  sorry  you  can't  come  to-night." 

"  So  am  not  I,"  said  the  younger  Grayson,  as, 
making  his  acknowledgments  and  farewell,  Harrison 
pushed  out  of  sight  and  re-entered  the  forest.  The 
boat  touched  the  shore,  and  the  brothers  leaped  out, 
pursuing  their  talk,  and  taking  out  their  game  as  they 
did  so. 

"  So  am  not  I,"  repeated  the  younger  brother,  gloomily : 
— "  I  would  see  as  little  of  that  man  as  possible." 

"And  why,  Hugh?  In  what  does  he  offend  you?" 
was  the  inquiry  of  his  companion. 

"  I  know  not — but  he  does  offend  me,  and  I  hate  him, 
thoroughly  hate  him." 

"  And  wherefore,  Hugh  ?  what  has  he  done — what 
said?  You  have  seen  but  little  of  him  to  judge.  Go 
with  me  to-morrow  to  the  Block  House — see  him — talk 
with  him.     You  will  find  him  a  noble  gentleman." 

And  the  two  brothers  continued  the  subject  while 
moving  homeward  with  the  spoil. 

"  I  would  not  see  him,  though  I  doubt  not  what  you 
say.  I  would  rather  that  my  impressions  of  him  should 
remain  as  they  are." 

"  Hugh  Grayson — your  perversity  comes  from  a  cause 
you  would  blush  that  I  should  know — you  dislike  him, 
brother,  because  Bess  Matthews  does  not." 

The  younger  brother  threw  from  his  shoulder  the 
carcass  of  the  deer  which  he  carried,  and  with  a 
broken  speech,  but  a  fierce  and  fixed  gesture,  con- 
fronted the  speaker. 

"  Walter  Grayson — yrou  are  my  brother — you  are 
my  brother ; — but  do  not  speak  on  this  subject  again. 
I  am  perverse — I  am  unreasonable — be  it  so — I  can- 
not be  other  than  I  am  ;  and,  as  you  love  me,  bear 
with  it  while  you  may.  But  urge  me  no  more  in  this 
5* 


54  THE    YEMASSEE. 

matter.  I  cannot  like  that  man  for  many  reasons,  and 
noi  the  least  of  these  is,  that  I  cannot  so  readily 
as  yourself  acknowledge  his  superiority,  while,  per- 
haps, not  less  than  yourself,  I  cannot  help  but  know  it. 
My  pride  is  to  feel  my  independence — it  is  for  you  to 
desire  control,  were  it  only  for  the  connexion  and  the 
sympathy  which  it  brings  to  you.  You  are  one  of  the 
million  who  make  tyrants.  Go — worship  him  yourself, 
but  do  not  call  upon  me  to  do  likewise." 

"  Take  up  the  meat,  brother,  and  be  not  wroth ;  above 
all  things  try  and  remember,  in  order  that  your  mood 
may  be  kept  in  subjection — try  and  remember  our  old 
mother." 

A  few  more  words  of  sullen  dialogue  between  them, 
and  the  two  brothers  passed  into  a  narrow  pathway 
leading  to  a  cottage,  where,  at  no  great  distance,  they 
resided. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  Ye  may  not  with  a  word  define 

The  love  that  lightens  o'er  her  face, 
That  makes  her  glance  a  glance  divine, 

Fresh  caught  from  heaven,  its  native  place — 
And  in  her  heart,  as  in  her  eye, 

A  spirit  lovely  as  serene — ■ 
Makes  of  each  charm  some  deity, 

Well  worshipp'd,  though  perhaps  unseen." 

The  soft  sunset  of  April,  of  an  April  sky  in  C. 
lina,  lay  beautifully  over  the  scene  that  afternoon. 
Imbowered  in  trees,  with  a  gentle  esplanade,  running 
down  to  the  river,  stood  the  pretty  yet  modest  cottage, 
in  which  lived  the  pastor  of  the  settlement,  John 
Matthews,  his  wife,  and  daughter  Elizabeth.  The 
dwelling  was  prettily  enclosed  with  sheltering  groves 
— through  which,  at  spots  here  and  there,  peered  forth 
its  well  whitewashed  veranda.  The  river,  a  few  hun- 
dred yards  in  front,  wound  pleasantly  along,  making 


THE    YEMASSEE.  55 

a  circuitous  sweep  just  at  that  point,  which  left  the 
cottage  upon  something  like  an  isthmus,  and  made  it 
a  prominent  object  to  the  eye  in  an  approach  from 
cither  end  of  the  stream.  The  site  had  been  felici- 
tously chosen  ;  and  the  pains  taken  with  it  had  suf- 
ficiently improved  the  rude  location  to  show  how  much 
may  be  effected  by  art,  when  employed  in  arran- 
ging the  toilet,  and  in  decorating  the  wild  beauties 
of  her  country  cousin.  The  house  itself  was  rude 
enough — like  those  of  the  region  generally,  having 
been  built  of  logs,  put  together  as  closely  as  the  mate- 
rial would  permit,  and  affording  only  a  couple  of  rooms 
in  front,  to  which  the  additional  shed  contributed  two 
more,  employed  as  sleeping  apartments.  Having 
shared,  however,  something  of  the  whitewash  which 
had  been  employed  upon  the  veranda,  the  little  fabric 
wore  a  cheerful  appearance,  which  proved  that  the 
pains  taken  with  it  had  not  been  entirely  thrown  away 
upon  the  coarse  material  of  which  it  had  been  con- 
structed. We  should  not  forget  to  insist  upon  the 
porch  or  portico  of  four  columns,  formed  of  slender 
pines  decapitated  for  the  purpose,  which,  having  its 
distinct  roof,  formed  the  entrance  through  the  piazza  to 
the  humble  cottage.  The  clustering  vines,  too,  hanging 
fantastically  over  the  entrance,  almost  forbidding  in- 
gress, furnished  proof  enough  of  the  presence  and 
agency  of  that  sweet  taste,  which,  lovely  of  itself, 
has  yet  an  added  attraction  when  coupled  with  the 
beauty  and  the  purity  of  woman. 

Gabriel  Harrison,  as  our  new  acquaintance  has  been 
^paused  to  style  himself,  was  now  seen  emerging  from 
the  copse  which  grew  alongside  the  river,  and  ap- 
proaching the  cottage.  Without  scruple  lifting  the 
wooden  latch  which  secured  the  gate  of  the  little 
paling  fence  running  around  it,  he  slowly  moved  up 
to  the  entrance.  His  approach,  however,  had  not 
been  entirely  unobserved.  A  bright  pair  of  eyes, 
and  a  laughing,  young,  even  girlish  face  were  peering 
through  the  green  leaves  which  almost  covered  it  in. 
As  the  glance  met  his  own,  the  expression  of  sobe? 


56  THE    YEMASSEE. 

gravity  and  thoughtfulness  departed  from  his  counte- 
nance ;  and  he  now  seemed  only  the  playful,  wild, 
thoughtless,  and  gentle-natured  being  she  had  been 
heretofore  accustomed  to  regard  him. 

"  Ah,  Bess  ;  dear  Bess — still  the  s^|me,  my  beauty  ; 
still  the  laughing,  the  lovely,  the  star-eyed — " 

"  Hush,  hush,  you  noisy  and  wicked — not  so  loud  ; 
mother  is  busily  engaged  in  her  evening  nap,  and 
that  long  tongue  of  yours  will  not  make  it  sounder." 

"A  sweet  warning,  Bess— but  what  then — if  we 
talk  not,  we  are  like  to  have  a  dull  time  of  it." 

"  And  if  you  do,  and  she  wakes  without  having  her 
nap  out,  we  are  like  to  have  a  cross  time  of  it ;  and 
so,  judge  for  yourself  which  you  would  best  like." 

"  I'm  dumb, — speechless,  my  beauty,  as  a  jay  on  a 
visit ;  and  see  then  what  you'll  lose." 

»  What  ?" 

"My  fine  speeches — your  own  praise — no  more 
dears,  and  loves,  and  beauties.  My  tongue  and  your 
ears  will  entirely  forget  their  old  acquaintance  ;  and 
there  will  be  but  a  single  mode  of  keeping  any  of  out 
memories  alive." 

"  How  is  that — what  mode  ?" 

"  An  old  song  tells  us — 

"  '  The  lips  of  the  dumh  may  speak  of  love, 
Though  the  words  may  die  in  a  kiss — 
And—'  " 

"  Will  you  never  be  quiet,  Gabriel  ?" 

"  How  can  I,  with  so  much  that  is  disquieting 
near  me  1  Quiet,  indeed, — why  Bess,  I  never  look 
upon  you — ay,  for  that  matter,  I  never  think  of 
you,  but  my  heart  beats,  and  my  veins  tingle,  and 
my  pulses  bound,  and  all  is  confusion  in  mj 
senses.  You  are  my  disquiet,  far  and  near — and  you 
know  not,  dear  Bess,  how  much  I  have  longed,  during 
the  last  spell  of  absence,  to  be  near,  and  again  to  see 
you." 

"  Oh,  I  heed  not  your  flattery.  Longed  lor  me, 
indeed,  and  so  long  away.     Why,   where  have  you 


THE    YEMASSEE  57 

been  all  this  while,  and  what  is  the  craft,  Gabriel 
which  keeps  you  away  ? — am  I  never  to  know  the 
secret  ?" 

''  Not  yet,  not  yet,  sweetest ;  but  a  little  while,  my 
most  impatient  beauty  ;  but  a  little  while,  and  you  shall 
know  all  and  every  thing." 

"  Shall  I  ?  but,  ah !  how  long  have  you  told  me 
so — years,  I'm  sure — " 

"  Scarcely  months,  Bess — your  heart  is  your  book- 
keeper." 

"  Well,  months — for  months  you  have  promised  me 
— but  a  little  while,  and  you  shall  know  all ;  and  here 
I've  told  you  all  my  secrets,  as  if  you  had  a  right  to 
know  them." 

"  Have  I  not  ? — if  my  craft,  Bess,  were  only  my 
secret — if  much  that  belongs  to  others  did  not  depend 
upon  it — if,  indeed,  success  in  its  pursuit  were  not 
greatly  risked  by  its  exposure,  you  should  have  heard 
it  with  the  same  sentence  which  just  told  you  how 
dear  you  were  to  me.  But  only  by  secrecy  can  my 
pursuit  be  successfully  accomplished.  Besides,  Bess, 
as  it  concerns  others,  the  right  to  yield  it,  even  to 
such  sweet  custody  as  your  own,  is  not  with  me." 

"  But,  Gabriel,  I  can  surely  keep  it  safely." 

"  How  can  you,  Bess — since,  as  a  dutiful  child,  you 
are  bound  to  let  your  mother  share  in  all  your  knowl- 
edge ?     She  knows  of  our  love  ;  does  she  not  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  and  she  is  glad  to  know — she  approves 
of  it.  And  so,  Gabriel — forgive  me,  but  I  am  very  anx- 
ious— and  so  you  can't  tell  me  what  is  the  craft  you 
pursue  1"  and  she  looked  very  persuasive  as  she  spoke. 

"  I  fear  me,  Bess,  if  you  once  knew  my  craft,  you 
would  discover  that  our  love  was  all  a  mistake.  You 
would  learn  to  unlove  much  faster  than  you  ever 
learned  to  love." 

"  Nonsense,  Gabriel — you  know  that  is  impossible. ; 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  Bess,  for  the  assurance  ;  bin 
are  you  sure — suppose  now,  I  may  be  a  pedler,  doing 
the  same  business  with  Granger,  probably  his  partner 
— only  think." 

C3 


58  THE    YKMASSEE. 

"That  cannot  be — I  know  better  than  that — I'm 
certain  it  is  not  so." 

"  And  why  not,  Beautiful." 

"  Be  dflhe, — and,  Gabriel,  cease  calling  me  nick- 
names, or  I'll  leave  you.  I  won't  suffer  it.  You  make 
quite  too  free." 

"  Do  I,  Bess, — well,  I'm  very  sorry — but  I  can'l 
help  it,  half  the  time,  I  assure  you.  It's  my  nature 
— I  was  born  so,  and  have  been  so  from  the  cradle  up. 
The  very  first  words  I  uttered,  were  so  many  nick- 
names, and  in  calling  my  own  papa,  would  you  be- 
lieve it,  I  could  never  get  farther  than  the  pap." 

"  Obstinate — incorrigible  man  !*' 

"  Dear,  delightful,  mischievous  woman. — But,  Bess, 
by  what  are  you  assured  I  am  no  trader  ?" 

"  By  many  things,  Gabriel — by  look,  language, 
gesture,  manner — your  face,  your  speech. — All  satisfy 
me  that  you  are  no  trader,  but  a  gentleman — like  the 
brave  cavaliers  that  stood  by  King  Charles." 

"  A  dangerous  comparison,  Bess,  if  your  old  Puri- 
tan sire  could  hear  it.  What !  the  daughter  of  the 
grave  Pastor  Matthews  thinking  well  of  the  cavaliers 
— why,  Bess,  let  him  but  guess  at  such  irreverence, 
and  he'll  be  down  upon  you,  thirty  thousand  strong, 
in  scolds  and  sermons." 

"  Hush — don't  speak  of  papa  after  that  fashion. 
It's  true,  he  talks  hardly  of  the  cavaliers — and  I  think 
well  of  those  he  talks  ill  of — so  much  for  your  teach- 
ing, Gabriel — you  are  to  blame.  But  he  loves  me  ; 
and  that's  enough  to  make  me  respect  his  opinions, 
and  to  love  him,  in  spite  of  them." 

"  You  think  he  loves  you,  Bess — and  doubtlessly 
he  does,  as  who  could  otherwise — but,  is  it  not  strange 
that  he  does  not  love  you  enough  to  desire  your  hap- 
piness ?" 

"  Why,  so  he  does." 

"  How  can  that  be,  Bess,  when  he  still  refuses  you 
to  me  ?" 

"  And  are  you  so  sure,  Gabriel,  that  his  consent 
would  have  that  effect  ?"  inquired  the  maiden,  slowly, 


THE    YEMASSEE.  59 

half  pensively,  half  playfully,  with  a  look  nevertheless 
downcast,  and  a  cheek  that  wore  a  blush  after  the 
prettiest  manner.  Harrison  passed  his  arm  about  her 
person,  and  with  a  tone  and  countenance  something 
graver  than  usual,  but  full  of  tenderness,  replied  : — 

"  You  do  not  doubt  it  yourself,  dearest.  I'm  sure 
you  do  not.  Be  satisfied  of  it,  so  far  as  a  warm  affec- 
tion, and  a  thought  studious  to  unite  with  your  own, 
can  give  happiness  to  mortal.  If  you  are  not  assured 
by  this  time,  no  word  from  me  can  make  you  more  so. 
True,  Bess — I  am  wild — perhaps  rash  and  frivolous 
— foolish,  and  in  some  things,  headstrong  and  obstinate 
enough ;  but  the  love  for  you,  Bess,  which  I  have 
always  felt,  I  have  felt  as  a  serious  and  absorbing 
concern,  predominating  over  all  other  objects  of  my 
existence.  Let  me  be  at  the  wildest — the  wayward- 
est — as  full  of  irregular  impulse  as  I  may  be,  and 
your  name,  and  the  thought  of  you,  bring  me  back  to 
myself,  bind  me  down,  and  take  all  wilfulness  from 
my  spirit.  It  is  true,  Bess,  true,  by  the  blessed 
sunlight  that  gives  us  its  smile  and  its  promise  while 
passing  from  our  sight — but  this  you  knew  before,  and 
only  desired  its  re-assertion,  because — " 

"  Because  what,  Gabriel  V 

"  Because  the  assurance  is  so  sweet  to  your  ears, 
that,  you  could  not  have  it  too  often  repeated." 

"  Oh,  abominable — thus  it  is,  you  destroy  all  the 
grace  of  your  pretty  speeches.  But,  you  mistake  the 
sex,  if  you  suppose  we  care  for  your  vows  on  this 
subject — knowing,  as  we  do,  that  you  are  compelled  to 
love  us,  we  take  the  assurance  for  granted." 

"  I  grant  you ;  but  the  case  is  yours  also.  Love  is 
a  mutual  necessity  ;  and  were  it  not  that  young  hearts 
are  still  old  hypocrites,  the  general  truth  would  have 
long  since  been  admitted  ;  but — " 

He  was  interrupted  at  this  point  of  the  dialogue, 
which,  in  spite  of  all  the  warnings  of  the  maiden,  had 
been  carried  on  in  the  warmth  of  its  progress  some- 
what more  loudly  than  was  absolutely  necessary, 
and  brought  back  to  a  perception  of  the  error  by  a 


60  THE    YEMASSEE. 

voice  of  inquiry  from  within,  demanding  of  Bess  with 
wnom  she  spoke. 

'•'  With  Gabriel — with  Captain  Harrison, — mother." 
"  Well,  why  don't  you  bring  him  in  ?     Have  you  for- 
gotten your  manners,  Betsy  ?•" 

"'  No,  mother,  but — come  in,  Gabriel,  come  in :"  and 
as  she  spoke  she  extended  her  hand,  which  he  pas- 
sionately carried  to  his  lips,  and  resolutely  maintained 
there,  in  spite  of  all  her  resistance,  while  passing  into 
the  entrance  and  before  reaching  the  apartment.  The 
good  old  dame,  a  tidy,  well-natured  antique,  received 
the  visiter  with  regard  and  kindness,  and  though  evi- 
dently but  half  recovered  from  a  sound  nap,  proceeded 
to  chatter  with  him  and  at  him  with  all  the  garrulous 
unscrupulosity  of  age.  Harrison,  with  that  playful 
frankness  which  formed  so  large  a  portion  of  his  man- 
ner, and  without  any  effort,  had  contrived  long  since  to 
make  himself  a  friend  in  the  mother  of  his  sweet-heart ; 
and  knowing  her  foible,  he  now  contented  himself  with 
provoking  the  conversation,  prompting  the  choice  of 
material,  and  leaving  the  tongue  of  the  old  lady  at  her 
own  pleasure  to  pursue  it :  he,  in  the  meanwhile,  con- 
triving that  sort  of  chat,  through  the  medium  of  looks 
and  glances  with  the  daughter,  so  grateful  in  all  simi- 
lar cases  to  young  people,  and  which  at  the  same  time 
offered  no  manner  of  obstruction  to  the  employment  of 
the  mother.  It  was  not  long  before  Mr.  Matthews, 
the  pastor  himself,  made  his  appearance,  and  the  cour- 
tesies of  his  reception  were  duly  extended  by  him  to 
the  guest  of  his  wife  and  daughter ;  but  there  seemed 
a  something  of  backwardness,  a  chilly  repulsiveness 
in  the  manner  of  the  old  gentleman,  quite  repugnant  to 
the  habits  of  the  country,  and  not  less  so  to  the  feel- 
ings of  Harrison,  which,  for  a  brief  period,  had  the 
effect  of  freezing  not  a  little  even  of  the  frank  exuber- 
ance of  that  personage  himself.  The  old  man  was  an 
ascetic — a  stern  Presbyterian — one  of  the  ultra-non- 
conformists— and  not  a  little  annoyed  at  that  period, 
and  10  the  new  country,  by  the  course  of  government, 
and  plan  of  legislation   pursued  by  the   proprietary 


THE    YEMASSEE.  61 

lords  of  the  province,  which,  in  the  end,  brought  about 
a  revolution  hi  Carolina  resulting  in  the  transfer 
of  their  colonial  right  and  the  restoration  of  their  char- 
ter to  the  crown.  The  leading  proprietary  lords  were 
generally  of  the  church  of  England,  and  with  all  the 
bigotry  of  the  zealot,  forgetting,  and  in  violation  of  their 
strict  pledges,  given  at  the  settlement  of  the  colony, 
and  through  which  they  made  the  acquisition  of  a 
large  body  of  their  most  valuable  population,  not  to  in- 
terfere in  the  popular  religion — they  proceeded,  soon 
after  the  colony  began  to  flourish,  to  the  establishment 
of  a  regular  church,  and,  from  step  to  step,  had  at 
length  gone  so  far  as  actually  to  exclude  from  all 
representation  in  the  colonial  assemblies,  such  por- 
tions of  the  country  as  were  chiefly  settled  by  other 
sects.  The  region  in  which  we  find  our  story,  shared 
in  this  exclusion ;  and  with  a  man  like  Matthews,  a 
stern,  sour  stickler— a  good  man  enough,  but  not  an 
overwise  one — wedded  to  old  habits  and  prejudices, 
and  perhaps  like  a  very  extensive  class,  one,  who,  pre- 
serving forms,  might  with  little  difficulty  be  persuaded 
to  throw  aside  principles — with  such  a  man,  the  na- 
tive acerbity  of  his  sect  might  be  readily  supposed  to 
undergo  vast  increase  and  exercise,  from  the  political 
disabilities  thus  warring  with  his  religious  professions. 
He  was  a  bigot  himself,  and  with  the  power,  would 
doubtless  have  tyrannised  after  a  similar  fashion.  The 
world  with  him  was  what  he  could  take  in  with  his 
eye,  or  control  within  the  sound  of  his  voice.  He  could 
not  be  brought  to  understand,  that  climates  and  condi- 
tions should  be  various,  and  that  the  popular  good,  in  a 
strict  reference  to  the  mind  of  man,  demanded  that 
people  should  everywhere  differ  in  manner  and  opin- 
on.  He  wore  clothes  after  a  different  fashion  from 
those  who  ruled,  and  the  difference  was  vital ;  but  he 
perfectly  agreed  with  those  in  power  that  there  should 
be  a  prescribed  standard  by  which  the  opinions  of  all 
persons  should  be  regulated  ;  and  sUch  a  point  as  this 
forms  the  fauii  for  which,  forgetful  all  the  while  of  pro- 
priety, not  less  than  of  truth,  so  many  thousands  are 
Vol.  I.  6 


62  THE    VEMASSEE. 

ready  for  the  stake  and  the  sacrifice.  But  though  as 
great  a  bigot  as  any  of  his  neighbours,  Matthews  yet 
felt  how  very  uncomfortable  it  was  to  be  in  a  minority; 
and  the  persecutions  to  which  his  sect  had  been  ex- 
posed in  Carolina,  where  they  had  been  taught  to  look 
for  every  form  of  indulgence,  had  made  him  not  less 
hostile  towards  the  government  than  bitter  in  his  feel- 
ings and  relationship  to  society.  To  him,  the  manners 
of  Harrison, — his  dashing,  free,  unrestrainable  carriage, 
as  it  was  directly  in  the  teeth  of  Puritan  usage,  was 
particularly  offensive  ;  and  at  this  moment  some  newly 
proposed  exactions  of  the  proprietors  in  England,  hav- 
ing for  their  object  something  more  of  religious  reform, 
had  almost  determined  many  of  the  Puritans  to  remove 
from  the  colony,  and  place  themselves  under  the  more 
gentle  and  inviting  rule  of  Penn,  then  beginning  to  at- 
tract all  eyes  to  the  singularly  pacific  and  wonderfully 
successful  government  of  his  establishment.  Having 
this  character,  and  perplexed  with  these  thoughts,  old 
Matthews  was  in  no  mood  to  look  favourably  upon  the 
suit  of  Harrison.  For  a  little  while  after  his  entrance 
the  dialogue  was  strained  and  chilling,  and  Harrison 
himself  grew  dull  under  its  influence,  while  Bess  looked 
every  now  and  then  doubtfully,  now  to  her  father  and 
now  to  her  lover,  not  a  little  heedful  of  the  increased 
sternness  which  lowered  upon  the  features  of  the  old 
man.  Some  family  duties  at  length  demanding  the 
absence  of  the  old  lady,  Bess  took  occasion  to  follow ; 
and  the  circumstance  seemed  to  afford  the  pastor  a 
chance  for  the  conversation  which  he  desired. 

"  Master  Harrison,"  said  he,  gravely,  "  I  have  just 
returned  from  a  visit  to  Port  Royal  Island,  and  from 
thence  to  Charlestown." 

"  Indeed,  sir — I  was  told  you  had  been  absent,  but 
knew  not  certainly  where  you  had  gone.  How  did 
you  travel  ?" 

"  By  canoe,  sir.  to  Port  Royal,  and  then  by  Miller's 
sloop  to  Charlestown." 

"Did  you  find  all  things  well,  sir,  in  that  quarter, 
and  was  there  any  thing  from  England  ?" 


THE    YEMASSEE.  63 

"  All  things  were  well,  sir ;  there  had  been  a  vessel 
with  settlers  from  England." 

"What  news,  sir — what  news  ?" 

"  The  death  of  her  late  majesty,  Queen  Anne,  whom 
God  receive — " 

;'  Amen  ! — but  the  throne — "  was  the  impatient  in- 
quiry.    "  The  succession  V 

"  The  throne,  sir,  is  filled  by  the  Elector  of  Hano- 
ver— " 

"  Now,  may  I  hear  falsely,  for  I  would  not  heed 
this  tale  !  What — was  there  no  struggle  for  the  Stu- 
art—no stroke  ? — now  shame  on  the  people  so  ready 
for  the  chain ;"  and  as  Harrison  spoke,  he  rose  with  a 
brow  deeply  wrinkled  with  thought  and  indignation, 
and  paced  hurriedly  over  the  floor. 

"  You  are  fast,  too  fast,  Master  Harrison  ;  there  had 
been  strife,  and  a  brief  struggle,  though,  happily  for  the 
nation,  a  successless  one,  to  lift  once  more  into  the  high 
places  of  power  that  bloody  and  witless  family — 
the  slayers  and  the  persecutors  of  the  saints.  But 
thanks  be  to  the  God  who  breathed  upon  the  forces  of 
the  foe,  and  shrunk  up  their  sinews.  The  strife  is  at 
rest  there  ;  but  when,  oh  Lord,  shall  the  persecutions 
of  thy  servants  cease  here,  even  in  thy  own  untrodden 
places !" 

The  old  man  paused,  while,  without  seeming  to  no- 
tice well  what  he  had  last  said,  Harrison  continued  to 
pace  the  floor  in  deep  meditation.  At  length  the  pas- 
tor again  addressed  him,  though  in  a  different  tone  and 
upon  a  very  different  subject. 

"  Master  Harrison,"  said  he,  "  I  have  told  thee  that 
I  have  been  to  Charlestown — perhaps  I  should  tell  thee 
that  it  would  have  been  my  pleasure  to  meet  with 
thee  there." 

"  I  have  been  from  Charlestown  some  weeks,  sir," 
was  the  somewhat  hurried  reply.  "  I  have  had  labours 
upon  the  Ashe-poo,  and  even  to  the  waters  of  the  Sa- 
vannah." 

"I  doubt  not — I  doubt  not,  Master  Harrison,"  was 
he  sober  response ;   "  thy  craft  carries  thee  far,  and 


64  THE    VEMASSEE. 

thy  labours  are  manifold ;  but  what  is  that  craft,  Mas- 
ter Harrison  ?  and,  while  I  have  it  upon  my  lips,  let  me 
say,  that  it  was  matter  of  strange  surprise  in  my  mind, 
when  1  asked  after  thee  in  Charlestown,  not  to  find  any 
wholesome  citizen  who  could  point  out  thy  lodgings, 
or  to  whom  thy  mere  name  was  a  thing  familiar.  Vainly 
did  I  ask  after  thee — none  said  for  thee,  Master  Har- 
rison is  a  good  man  and  true,  and  his  works  are  sound 
and  sightworthy." 

"  Indeed — the  savages" — spoke  the  person  addressed 
with  a  most  provoking  air  of  indifference — "  and  so, 
Mr.  Matthews,  your  curiosity  went  without'  profit  in 
either  of  those  places  ?" 

"Entirely,  sir — and  I  would  even  havo  sought  that 
worthy  gentleman,  the  Lord  Craven,  for  his  knowledge 
of  thee,  if  he  had  aught,  but  that  he  was  gone  forth 
upon  a  journey;"  replied  the  old  gentleman,  with  an 
air  of  much  simplicity. 

"  That  would  have  been  going  far  for  thy  curiosity, 
sir — very  far — and  it  would  be  lifting  a  poor  gentleman 
like  myself  into  undeserving  notice,  to  have  sought 
for  him  at  the  hands  of  the  Governor  Craven." 

"  Thou  speakest  lightly  of  my  quest,  Master  Har- 
rison, as,  indeed,  it  is  too  much  thy  wont  to  speak  of 
all  other  things,"  was  the  grave  response  of  Matthews  ; 
"  but  the  subject  of  my  inquiry  was  too  important 
to  the  wellbeing  of  my  family,  to  be  indifferent  to 
me." 

"And  so,  sir,  there  were  no  Harrisons  in  Charles- 
town — none  in  Port  Royal  ?" 

"  Harrisons  there  were — " 

"  True,  true,  sir — "  said  Harrison,  breaking  in — 
"  true,  true — Harrisons  there  were,  but  none  of  them 
the  true.  There  was  no  Gabriel  among  the  saints  of 
those  places." 

"  Speak  not  so  irreverently,  sir, — if  I  may  crave  so 
much  from  one  who  seems  usually  indifferent  to  nvy 
desires,  however  regardful  he  may  be  at  all  times  of 
his  own." 

"  Not  so  seriously,  Mr.  Matthews,"  replied  the  oth- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  65 

er,  now  changing  his  tone  to  a  business  and  straight- 
forward character.  "  Not  so  seriously,  sir,  if  you 
please  ;  you  are  quite  too  grave  in  this  matter,  by  half, 
and  allow  nothing  for  the  ways  of  one  who,  perhaps, 
is  not  a  jot  more  extravagant  in  his  than  you  are  in 
yours.  Permit  me  to  say,  sir,  that  a  little  more  plain 
confidence  in  Gabriel  Harrison  would  have  saved  thee 
the  unnecessary  and  unprofitable  trouble  thou  hast 
given  thyself  in  Charlestown.  I  knew  well  enough, 
and  should  willingly  have  assured  thee  that  thy  search 
after  Gabriel  Harrison  in  Charlestown  would  be  as 
wild  as  that  of  the  old  Spaniard  among  the  barrens 
of  Florida  for  the  waters  of  an  eternal  youth.  He  has 
neither  chick  nor  child,  nor  friend  nor  servant,  either  in 
Charlestown  or  in  Port  Royal,  and  men  there  may  not 
well  answer  for  one  whom  they  do  not  often  see  un- 
less as  the  stranger.  Gabriel  Harrison  lives  not  in 
those  places,  Master  Matthews." 

"  It  is  not  where  he  lives  not,  that  I  seek  to  know — 
to  this  thou  hast  spoken  only,  Master  Harrison — wilt 
thou  now  condescend  to  say  where  he  does  live,  where 
his  name  and  person  may  be  known,  where  his  dwel- 
ling and  his  connexions  may  be  found — what  is  his 
craft,  what  his  condition  ?" 

"  A  different  inquiry  that,  Mr.  Matthews,  and  one 
rather  more  difficult  to  answer — now,  at  least.  I  must 
say  to  you,  sir,  as  I  did  before,  when  first  speaking 
with  you  on  the  subject  of  your  daughter,  I  am  of 
good  family  and  connexions,  drive  no  servile  or  dishon- 
ourable craft,  am  one  thou  shalt  not  be  ashamed  of, 
neither  thou  nor  thy  daughter ;  and  though  now  en- 
gaged in  a  pursuit  which  makes  it  necessary  that  much 
of  my  own  concerns  be  kept  for  a  time  in  close  secrecy, 
yet  the  day  will  come,  and  I  look  for  it  to  come  ere 
long,  when  all  shall  be  known,  and  thou  shalt  have  no 
reason  to  regret  thy  confidence  in  the  stranger.  For 
the  present,  I  can  tell  thee  no  more." 

"  This  will  not  do  for  me,  Master  Harrison — it  will 
not  serve  a  father.  On  a  promise  so  imperfect,  I  can- 
not risk  the  good  name  and  the  happiness  of  my  child; 
6* 


66  THE    YEMASSEE. 

and,  let  me  add  to  thee,  Master  Harrison,  that  there 
are  other  objections  which  gather  in  my  mind,  hostile 
to  thy  claim,  even  were  these  taken  away." 

"  Ha  !  what  other  objections,  sir — speak." 

"  Many,  sir,  nor  the  least  of  these,  Jhy  great  levity 
of  speech  and  manner,  which  iss  unbecoming  in  one 
having  an  immortal  soul,  and  discreditable  to  one  of 
thy  age." 

"  My"  age,  indeed,  sir — my  youth  you  will  surely 
phrase  it  upon  suggestion,  for  I  do  not  mark  more  than 
thirty,  and  would  have  neither  Bess  nor  yourself  count 
upon  me  for  a  greater  supply  of  years." 

"  It  is  unbecoming,  sir,  in  any  age,  and  in  you  shows 
itself  quite  too  frequently.  Then,  sir,  your  tone  and 
language,  contemptuous  of  many  things  which  the  lover 
of  religion  is  taught  to  venerate,  too  greatly  savour  of 
that  ribald  court  and  reign  which  made  merry  at  the 
work  of  the  Creator,  and  the  persecution  of  his  crea- 
tures, and  drank  from  a  rich  cup  where  the  wine  of 
drunkenness  and  the  blood  of  the  saints  were  mixed 
together  in  most  lavish  profusion.  You  sing,  sir,  mirth- 
ful songs,  and  sometimes,  though,  perhaps,  not  so  often, 
employ  a  profane  oath,  that  your  speech,  in  the  silly 
thought  of  the  youthful,  may  have  a  strong  sound  and 
a  greater  emphasis — " 

"  Enough,  enough,  good  father  of  mine  that  is  to  be, 
— you  have  said  quite  enough  against  me,  and  more, 
rest  you  thankful,  than  I  shall  ever  undertake  to  an- 
swer.    One  reply,  however,  I  am  free  to  make  you." 

"  I  shall  be  pleased  to  hear  you,  sir." 

"That  is  gracious;  and  now,  sir,  let  me  say,  I  admit 
the  sometime  levity — the  playfulness  and  the  thought- 
lessness, perhaps.  I  shall  undertake  to  reform  these, 
when  you  shall  satisfy  me  that  to  laugh  and  sing,  and 
seek  and  afford  amusement, are  inconsistent  with  my 
duties  either  to  the  Creator  or  tho  creature.  On  this 
head,  permit  me  to  saj  diat  you  are  the  criminal,  not 
I  It  is  you,  sir,  and  your  sect,  that  are  the  true 
criminals.  Denying,  as  you  do,  to  the  young,  all  those 
natural  forms  of  enjoyment  and  amusement  which  the 


THE    YEMASSEE.  67 

Deity,  speaking  through  their  own  nature,  designed 
them,  you  cast  a  gloomy  despondency  over  all  things 
around  you.  In  this  way,  sir,  you  force  them  upon 
the  necessity  of  seeking  for  less  obvious  and  more  ar- 
tificial enjoyments,  which  are  not  often  innocent,  and 
which  are  frequently  ruinous  and  destructive.  As  for 
my  irreverence,  and  so  forth — If  it  be  so,  it  were  a 
grievous  fault,  and  I  am  grievously  sorry  for  it.  But 
I  am  free  to  say  that  I  am  not  conscious  of  it.  If 
you  make  a  saint  out  of  a  murderer,  as  the  Ye- 
massee  makes  a  God  out  of  the  devil,  whom  he 
worships  as  frequently  and  with  more  fervour  than  he 
does  any  other,  I  am  not  therefore  irreverent  when  I 
doubt  and  deny.  I  do  not,  however,  pretend,  sir,  to 
defend  myself  from  the  charge  of  many  errors  and 
some  vices  perhaps.  I  will  try  and  cure  these  as  I  go 
on.  I  am  not  more  fond  of  them,  I  honestly  think, 
than  the  rest  of  my  neighbours ;  and  hope,  some  day, 
to  be  a  better  and  a  wiser  man  than  I  am.  That  I 
shall  never  be  a  Puritan,  however,  you  may  be  assured, 
iifit  be  only  to  avoid  giving  to  my  face  the  expression 
of  a  pine  bur.  That  I  shall  never  love  Cromwell  the 
better  for  having  been  a  hypocrite  as  well  as  a  mur- 
derer, you  may  equally  take  for  granted  ;  and,  that; 
my  dress,  unlike  your  own,  sir,  shall  be  fashioned 
always  with  a  due  reference  to  my  personal  becoming- 
ness,  you  and  I,  both,  may  this  day  safely  swear  for. 
These  are  matters,  Mr.  Matthews,  upon  which  you 
insist  with  too  much  solemnity.  I  look  upon  them, 
sir,  as  so  many  trifles,  not  worthy  the  close  considera- 
tion of  thinking  men.  I  will  convince  you  before 
many  days  perhaps,  that  my  levity  does  not  unfit  me 
for  business — never  interferes  with  my  duties.  I  wear 
it  as  I  do  my  doublet ;  when  it  suits  me  to  do  so,  I 
throw  it  aside,  and  proceed,  soul  and  body,  to  tne 
necessity  which  calls  for  it.  Such,  sir,  is  Gabriel 
Harrison — the  person  for  whom  you  can  find  no 
kindred — no  sponsor — an  objection,  perfectly  idle,  sir, 
when  one  thing  is  considered." 

"  And  pray,  sir,"  said  the  pastor,  who  had  been 


68  THE    YEMASSEE. 

stricken  dumb  by  what  seemed  the  gross  irreverence 
of  his  companion's  speech,  "  and  pray,  sir,  what  may 
that  be  V 

"  Why,  simply  sir,  that  your  daughter  is  to  marry 
-orabriel  Harrison  himself,  and  not  his  kindred." 

"Let  Gabriel  Harrison  rest  assured,  that  ray  daugh- 
ter does  no  such  thing." 

v  Cha-no-selonee,  as  the  Yemassees  say.  We  shall 
see.  I  don't  believe  that.  Trust  not  your  vow,  Mas- 
ter Matthews — Gabriel  Harrison  will  marry  your 
daughter,  and  make  her  an  excellent  husband,  sir,  in 
spite  of  you.  More  than  that,  sir,  I  will  for  once  be  a 
prophet  among  the  rest,  and  predict  that  you  too  shall 
clasp  hands  on  the  bargain." 

"  Indeed  I" 

"  Ay,  indeed,  sir.  Look  not  so  sourly,  old  man,  upon 
the  matter.  I  am  bent  on  it.  You  shall  not  destroy 
your  daughter's  chance  of  happiness  in  denying  mine. 
Pardon  me  if  my  phrase  is  something  audacious.  I 
have  been  a  rover,  and  my  words  come  with  my  feel- 
ings— I  seldom  stop  to  pick  them.  I  love  Bess,  and 
I'm  sure  I  can  make  her  happy.  Believing  this,  and 
believing  too  that  you  shall  be  satisfied  after  a  time 
with  me,  however  you  dislike  my  name,  I  shall  not 
suffer  myself  to  be  much  troubled  on  the  score  of  your 
refusal.  When  the  time  comes — when  I  can  see  my 
way  through  some  few  difficulties  now  before  me,  and 
when  I  have  safely  performed  other  duties,  I  shall 
come  to  possess  myself  of  my  bride — and,  as  I  shall 
then  give  you  up  my  secret,  I  shall  look  to  have  her 
at  your  hands."    * 

"  We  shall  see,  sir,"  was  all  the  response  which  the 
bewildered  pastor  uttered  to  the  wild  visiter  who  had 
thus  addressed  him.  The  character  of  the  dialogue, 
however,  did  not  seem  so  greatly  to  surprise  him, 
as  one  might  have  expected.  He  appeared  to  be 
rather  familiar  with  some  of  the  peculiarities  of  his 
companion,  and  however  he  might  object  to  his  seem- 
ing recklessness,  he  himself  was  not  altogether  in- 
sensible to  the  manly  fearlessness  which  marked  Har- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  69 

rison's  conduct  throughout.  The  conversation  had 
fairly  terminated  ;  and  following  his  guest  to  the  door- 
way, the  pastor  heard  his  farewell  with  a  half  uncon- 
scious spirit.  But  he  was  aroused  by  Harrison's  return. 
His  expression  of  face,  no  longer  laughing,  was  now 
singularly  changed  to  a  reflective  gravity. 

"  Mr.  Matthews,"  said  he — "  one  thing — let  me  not 
forget  to  counsel  you.  There  is  some  mischief  afoot 
among  the  Yemassees.  I  have  reason  to  believe  that 
it  has  been  for  some  time  in  progress.  We  shall  not 
be  long,  1  fear,  without  an  explosion,  and  must  be  pre- 
pared. The  lower  Block  House  would  be  your  safest 
retreat  in  case  of  time  being  allowed  you  for  flight ;  but 
I  pray  you  reject  no  warning,  and  take  the  first  Block 
House  if  the  warning  be  short.  I  shall  probably  be 
nigh,  however,  in  the  event  of  danger,  and  though  you 
like  not  the  name  of  Gabriel  Harrison,  its  owner  has 
some  ability,  and  wants  none  of  the  will  to  do  you 
service." 

The  old  man  was  struck,  not  less  with  the  earnest 
manner  of  the  speaker,  so  unusual  with  him,  than 
with  his  language  ;  and  with  something  more  of  defer- 
ence in  his  own  expression,  begged  to  know  the  occa- 
sion of  his  apprehensions. 

"  I  cannot  well  tell  you  now,"  said  the  other,  "  but 
there  are  reasons  enough  to  render  caution  advisable. 
Your  eye  has  probably  before  this  beheld  the  vessel 
in  the  river — she  is  a  stranger,  and  I  think  an  enemy. 
But  as  we  have  not  the  means  of  contending  with  her, 
we  must  watch  her  well,  and  do  what  we  can  by  strata- 
gem. What  we  think,  too,  must  be  thought  secretly ; 
but  to  you  I  may  say,  that  I  suspect  an  agent  of  the 
Spaniard  in  that  vessel,  and  will  do  my  utmost  to  find 
it  out.  I  know  that  sundry  of  the  Yemassees  have 
been  for  the  first  time  to  St.  Augustine,  and  they  have 
come  home  burdened  with  gauds  and  gifts.  These 
are  not  given  for  nothing.  But  enough — be  on  your 
watch — to  give  you  more  of  my  confidence,  at  this 
moment,  than  is  called  for,  is  no  part  of  my  vocation." 

"In  heaven's  name  who  are  you,  sir?"  was  the 
earnest  exclamation  of  the  old  pastor. 


70  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  Gabriel  Harrison,  sir,"  was  the  reply,  with  the 
most  profound  gravity  of  expression,  "  the  future  hus- 
band of  Bess  Matthews." 

Then,  as  he  caught  a  glance  of  the  maiden's  eye 
peering  through  a  neighbouring  window,  he  kissed  his 
hand  to  her  twice  and  thrice,  and  with  a  hasty  nod  to 
the  wondering  father,  who  now  began  to  regard  him 
as  a  madman,  he  dashed  forward  through  the  gate,  and 
was  soon  upon  the  banks  of  the  river. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  The  nations  meet  in  league — a  solemn  league, 
This  is  their  voice — this  their  united  pledge, 
For  all  adventure." 

Santjtee  turned  away  from  the  spot  whence  Har- 
rison had  departed,  and  was  about  to  retire,  when,  not 
finding  himself  followed  by  Ishiagaska,  and  perceiving 
the  approach  of  the  sailor,  his  late  opponent,  and  not 
knowing  what  to  expect,  he  again  turned,  facing  the 
two,  and  lifting  his  bow,  and  setting  his  arrow,  he  pre- 
pared himself  for  a  renewal  of  the  strife.  But  the 
voice  of  the  sailor  and  of  Ishiagaska,  at  the  same 
moment,  reached  his  ears  in  words  of  conciliation  -t 
and  resting  himself  slightly  against  a  tree,  foregoing 
none  of  his  precautions,  however,  with  a  cold  indiffer- 
ence he  awaited  their  approach.  The  seaman  ad- 
dressed him  with  all  his  usual  bluntness,  but  with  a 
manner  now  very  considerably  changed  from  what  it 
was  at  their  first  encounter.  He  apologized  for  his 
violence  and  for  having  slain  the  dog.  Had  he  known 
to  whom  it  belonged,  so  he  assured  the  chief,  he  had 
not  been  so  hasty  in  despatching  it:  and  as  some  small 
amends,  he  begged  the  Indian  to  do  with  the  venison 
as  he  thought  proper,  for  it  was  now  his  own.  During 
the  utterance  of  this  uncouth  apology,  mixed  up  as  it 


THE    YEMASSEE.  71 

was  with  numberless  oaths,  Sanutee  looked  on  and 
listened  with  contemptuous  indifference.  When  it 
was  done,  he  simply  replied — 

"  It  is  well — but  the  white  man  will  keep  the  meat, 
it  is  not  for  Sanutee." 

"  Come,  come,  don't  be  ill-favoured  now,  warrior. 
What's ,  done  can't  be  undone,  and  more  ado  is  too 
much  to  do.  I'm  sure  I'm  sorry  enough  I  killed  the 
dog,  but  how  was  I  to  know  he  belonged  to  you  ?" 

The  sailor  might  have  gone  oft  for  some  time  after 
this  fashion,  had  not  Ishiagaska,  seeing  that  the  refer- 
ence to  his  dog  only  the  more  provoked  the  ire  of  the 
chief,  interposed  by  an  address  to  the  sailor  which 
more  readily  commanded  Sanutee's  consideration. 

"  The  master  of  the  big  canoe — is  he  not  the  chief 
that  comes  from  St.  Augustine  1  Ishiagaska  has  look- 
ed upon  the  white  chief  in  the  great  lodge  of  his  Span- 
ish brother." 

"  Ay,  that  you  have,  Indian,  I'll  be  sworn ;  and  I 
thought  I  knew  you  from  the  first.  I  am  the  friend  of 
the  Spanish  governor,  and  I  come  here  now  upon  his 
business." 

"It  is  good,"  responded  Ishiagaska — and  he  turned 
to  Sanutee,  with  whom,  for  a  few  moments,  he  carried 
on  a  conversation  in  their  own  language,  entirely 
beyond  the  comprehension  of  the  sailor,  who  neverthe- 
less gave  it  all  due  attention. 

"  Brings  the  master  of  the  big  canoe  nothing  from 
our  Spanish  brother?  Hides  he  no  writing  in  his 
bosom  V  was  the  inquiry  of  Ishiagaska,  turning  from 
Sanutee,  who  seemed  to  have  prompted  the  inquiry. 

".Writing  indeed — no — writing  to  wild  Indians,"  and 
he  muttered  to  himself  the  last  clause,  at  the  conclu- 
sion of  his  reply  to  their  question.  "  No  writing,  but 
something  that  you  may  probably  understand  quite  as 
well.  Here — this  is  what  I  have  brought  you.  See 
if  you  can  read  it." 

As  he  spoke,  he  drew  from  his  bosom  a  bright  red 
cloth — -a  strip,  not  over  six  inches  in  width,  but  of 
several  yards  in  length,  worked  over  at  little  intervals 


72  THK    YEMASSEE. 

with  symbols  and  figures  of  every  kind  and  of  the  most 
fantastic  description — among  which  were  birds  and 
beasts,  reptiles  and  insects,  nncouthly  delineated,  either 
in  shells  or  beads,  which,  however  grotesque,  had  yet 
their  signification  ;  and  under  the  general  name  of  wam- 
pum, among  all  the  Indians  formed  a  common  language, 
in  which  their  treaties,  whether  of  peace,  war,  or  alli- 
ance, were  commonly  effected.  Each  tribe,  indicated 
by  some  hieroglyphic  of  this  sort,  supposed  to  be 
particularly  emblematic  of  its  general  pursuit  or  char- 
acter, pledges  itself  and  its  people  after  this  fashion, 
and  affixes  to  the  compact  agreed  upon  between  them 
a  seal,  which  is  significant  of  their  intentions,  and 
as  faithfully  binding  as  the  more  legitimate  charac- 
ters known  among  the  civilized.  The  features  of 
Sanutee  underwent  a  change  from  the  repose  of  indiffer- 
ence to  the  lively  play  of  the  warmest  interest,  as  he 
beheld  the  long  folds  of  this  document  slowly  unwind 
before  his  eyes  ;  and  without  a  word  hastily  snatching 
it  from  the  hands  of  the  seaman,  he  had  nearly  brought 
upon  himself  another  assault  from  that  redoubted 
worthy.  But  as  he  made  a  show  of  that  sort,  Ishia- 
gaska  interposed. 

"  How  do  I  know  that  it  is  for  him — that  treaty  is 
for  the  chiefs  of  the  Yemassees  ;  and  blast  my  eyes 
if  any  but  the  chiefs  shall  grapple  it  in  their  yellow 
fingers." 

"It  is  right — it  is  Sanutee,  the  great  chief  of  the 
Yemassees  ;  and  is  not  Ishiagaska  a  chief?"  replied 
the  latter,  impressively.  The  sailor  was  somewhat 
pacified,  and  said  no  more ;  while  Sanutee,  who 
seemed  not  at  all  to  have  heeded  this  latter  movement, 
went  on  examining  each  figure  upon  its  folds  in  turn, 
numbering  them  carefully  upon  his  fingers  as  he  did 
so,  and  conferring  upon  their  characters  with  Ishia- 
gaska, whose  own  curiosity  was  now  actively  at  work 
along  with  him  in  the  examination.  In  that  language 
which  from  their  lips  is  a  solemn  melody,  they 
conversed  together,  to  the  great  disquiet  of  the  seaman, 
who  had  no  less  curiosity  than  themselves   to  know 


THE    YEMASSEE.  T» 

fee  features  of  this  treaty,  but  who  understood  not  a 
word  they  said. 

"  Thev  are  here,  Ishiagaska,  they  have  heard  the 
speech  of  the  true  warrior,  and  they  will  stand 
together.  Look,  this  green  bird  is  for  the  Estatoe  ;* 
he  will  sing  death  in  the  sleeping  ear  of  the  pale 
warrior  of  the  English." 

"  He  is  a  great  brave  of  the  hills,  and  has  long  worn 
the   blanket  of  the    Spaniard.     It  is  good,"  was  the 

reply. 

"And  this  for  the  Cussoboe— it  is  burnt  timber. 
They  took  the  totem  from  the  Suwannee,  when  they 
smoked  him  out  of  his  lodge.  And  this  for  the 
Alatamaha,  a  green  leaf  of  the  summer,  for  the  great 
prophet  of  the  Alatamaha  never  dies,  and  looks  always 
in  youth.  This  tree  snake  stands  for  the  Serannah  ; 
for  he  watches  in  the  thick  top  of  the  bush  for  the 
warrior  that  walks  blind  underneath." 

"  I  have  looked  on  this  chief  in  battle — the  hill 
chief  of  Apalachy.  It  was  the  fight  of  a  long  day, 
when  we  took  scalps  from  their  warriors,  and  slew 
them  with  their  arms  about  our  necks.  They  are 
brave — look,  the  mark  of  their  knife  is  deep  in  the 
cheek  of  Ishiagaska." 

"  The  hill  is  their  totem.  It  stands,  and  they  never 
lie.  This  is  the  wolf  tribe  of  the  Cherokee — and  this 
the  bear's.  Look,  the  Catawba,  that  laughs,  is  here. 
He  speaks  with  the  trick-tongue  of  the  Coonee-lattee  ;f 
he  laughs,  but  he  can  strike  like  a  true  brave,  and  sings 
his  death-song  with  a  free  spirit." 

"  For  whom  speaks  the  viper-snake,  hissing  from 
under  the  bush  1" 

"  For  the  Creek  warrior  with  the  sharp  tooth,  that 
tears.  His  tooth  is  like  an  arrow,  and  when  he  tears 
away  the  scalp  of  his  enemy,  he  drinks  a  long  drink 

*  A  tribe  of  the  Cherokees,  living  in  what  is  now  Pendleton  dis 

t  The  mocking-bird.  The  Catawbas  were  of  a  generous,  elastic, 
ar,d  lively  temperament,  and  until  this  affair,  usually  the  friends  of 
the  Carolinians. 

Vol.  I.  1 


74  THE    YEMASSEE. 

of  his  blood,  that  makes  him  strong.  This  is  their 
totem — I  know  them  of  old ;  they  gave  us  six  braves 
when  we  fought  with  the  Chickquasays." 

The  sailor  had  heard  this  dialogue  without  any  of 
the  advantages  possessed  by  us.  It  was  in  a  dead 
language  to  him.  Becoming  impatient,  and  desiring 
to  have  some  hand  in  the  business,  be  took  advantage 
of  a  pause  made  by  Sanutee,  who  now  seemed  to  ex- 
amine with  Ishiagaska  more  closely  the  list  they  had 
read  out — to  suggest  a  more  rapid  progress  to  the  rest. 

"  Roll  them  out,  chief;  roll  them  out ;  there  are  many 
more  yet  to  come.  Snakes,  and  trees,  and  birds,  and 
beasts  enough  to  people  the  best  show-stall  of  Eu- 
rope." 

"  It  is  good,"  said  Sanutee,  who  understood  in  part 
what  had  been  said,  and  as  suggested,  the  Yemassee 
proceeded  to  do  so,  though  exhibiting  somewhat  less 
of  curiosity.  The  residue  of  the  hieroglyphics  were 
those  chiefly  of  tribes  and  nations  of  which  he  had 
been  previously  secure.  He  proceeded  however,  as 
if  rather  for  the  stranger's  satisfaction  than  his  own. 

"  Here,"  said  he,  continuing  the  dialogue  in  his  own 
language  with  Ishiagaska,  "here  is  the  Salutah*  that 
falls  like  the  water.  He  is  a  stream  from  the  rock. 
This  is  the  Isundigaf  that  goes  on  his  belly,  and  shoots 
from  the  hollow — this  is  the  Santee,  he  runs  in  the 
long  canoe,  and  his  paddle  is  a  cane,  that  catches  the 
tree  top,  and  thus  he  goes  through  the  dark  swamps 
of  Serattaya.|  The  Chickaree  stands  up  in  the  pine — 
and  the  Winyah  is  here  in  the  terrapin." 

"  I  say,  chief,"  said  the  sailor,  pointing  to  the  next 
symbol,  which  was  an  arrow  of  considerable  length, 
and  curved  almost  to  a  crescent,  "  I  say,  chief,  tell 
us  what  this  arrow  means  here — I  know  it  stands  for 
some  nation,  but  what  nation  ?  and  speak  now  in  plain 
English,  if  you  can,  or  in  Spanish,  or  in  French,  which 
1  can  make  out,  but  not  in  that  d — d  gibberish  which 

*  Salutah,  now  written  Saluda,  and  signifying  Corn  river. 

+  Isundiga,  or  Savannah. 

X  Near  Nelson's  ferry  and  Scott's  lake  on  the  Santee. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  75 

is  all  up  side  down  and  in  and  out,  and  no  ways  at  all, 
in  my  understanding." 

The  chief  comprehended  the  object  of  the  sailor, 
though  less  from  his  words  than  his  looks ;  and  with 
an  elevation  of  head  and  gesture,  and  a  pleasant  kin- 
dling of  the  eye,  he  replied  proudly  : — 

"  It  is  the  arrow,  the  arrow  that  came  with  the 
storm — it  came  from  the  Manneyto,  to  the  brave,  to 
the  well-beloved,  the  old  father-chief  of  the  Yemassee." 

"  Ah,  ha  !  so  that's  your  mark — totem,  do  you  call 
it  ? — Well,  its  a  pretty  long  matter  to  burrow  in  one  s 
ribs,  and  reminds  met  of  the  fellow  to  it,  that  you  so 
kindly  intended  for  mine.  But  that's  over  now — so 
no  more  of  it,  old  chief." 

Neither  of  the  Indians  appeared  to  heed  this  latter 
speech  of  the  sailor,  for  they  seemed  not  exactly 
to  comprehend  one  of  the  symbols  upon  the  wam- 
pum which  now  met  their  eyes,  and  called  for  their 
closest  scrutiny.  They  uttered  their  doubts  and  opin- 
ions in  their  own  language  with  no  little  fluency ; 
for  it  is  something  of  a  popular  error  to  suppose  the 
Indian  that  taciturn  character  which  he  is  sometimes 
represented.  He  is  a  great  speech  maker,  and  when 
business  claims  him  not,  actually  and  exceeding  fond 
of  a  jest ;  which,  by  the  way,  is  not  often  the  purest 
.B  its  nature.  The  want  of  our  language  is  a  very 
natural  reason  why  he  should  be  sparing  of  his  words 
when  he  speaks  with  us. 

The  bewilderment  of  the  chiefs  did  not  escape  the 
notice  of  the  sailor,  who  immediately  guessed  its  occa- 
sion. The  symbol  before  their  eyes  was  that  of  Spain  ; 
the  high  turrets,  and  the  wide  towers  of  its  castellated 
dominion,  frowning  in  gold,  and  finely  embroidered 
upon  the  belt,  directly  below  the  simpler  ensign  of  the 
Yemassees.  Explaining  the  mystery  to  their  satis- 
faction, the  contrast  between  its  gorgeous  imbodi- 
ments  and  vaster  associations  of  human  agency  and 
power,  necessarily  influenced  the  imagination  of  the 
European,  while  wanting  every  thing  like  force  to  the 
Indian,  to  whom  a  lodge  so  vast  and  cheerless  in  its 
D2 


76  THE    YEMASSEE. 

aspect  seemed  rather  an  absurdity  than  any  thing  else  ; 
and  he  could  not  help  dilating  upon  the  greatness  and 
magnificence  of  a  people  dwelling  in  such  houses. 

"  That's  a  nation  for  you  now,  chiefs — that  is  the 
nation  after  all." 

"  The  Yemassee  is  the  nation,"  said  one  of  the 
chiefs  proudly. 

"  Yes,  perhaps  so,  in  this  part  of  the  world,  a  great 
nation  enough  ;  but  in  Europe  you  wouldn't  be  a  mouth- 
ful— a  mere  drop  in  the  bucket — a  wounded  porpoise, 
flirting  about  in  the  mighty  seas  that  must  swallow  it 
up,-  Ah  !  it's  a  great  honour,  chiefs,  let  me  tell  you, 
when  so  great  a  king  as  the  King  of  Spain  condescends 
to  make  a  treaty  with  a  wild  people  such  as  you  are 
here." 

Understanding  but  little  of  all  this,  Sanutee  did  not 
perceive  its  disparaging  tendency,  but  simply  pointing 
to  the  insignia,  inquired — 

"It  is  the  Spanish  totem." 

"  Ay,  it's  their  sign — -their  arms — if  that's  what  you 
mean  by  totem.  It  was  a  long  time  before  the  Gover- 
nor of  Saint  Augustine  could  get  it  done  after  your 
fashion,  till  an  old  squaw  of  the  Charriquees*  fixed  it 
up,  and  handsomely  enough  she  has  done  it  too.  And 
now,  chiefs,  the  sooner  we  go  to  work  the  better.  The 
governor  has  put  his  hand  to  the  treaty,  he  will  find  the 
arms,  and  you  the  warriors." 

"  The  Yemassee  will  speak  to  the  governor,"  said 
Sanutee.    , 

"  You  will  have  to  go  to  Saint  Augustine,  then,  for 
he  has  sent  me  in  his  place.  I  have  brought  the  treaty, 
and  the  arms  are  in  my  vessel  ready  for  your  warriors,, 
whenever  they  are  ready." 

"Does  Sanutee  speak  to  a  chief?" 

"  Ay,  that  he  does,  or  my  name  is  not  Richard 
Chorley.  I  am  a  sea  chief,  a  chief  of  the  great  canoe, 
and  captain  of  as  pretty  a  crew  as  ever  riddled  a  mer- 
chantman." 

*  Thus  written  for  Cherokees,  in  many  of  the  old  state  papers. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  77 

"  I  see  not  the  totem  of  your  tribe." 

"  My  tribe  ?"  said  the  sailor,  laughingly — "  My  crew, 
you  mean.  Yes,  they  have  a  totem,  and  as  pretty  a 
one  as  any  on  your  roll.  There,  look,"  said  he,  and 
as  be  spoke,  rolling  up  his  sleeve,  he  displayed  a  huge 
anchor  upon  his  arm,  done  in  gunpowder — a  badge 
so  much  like  their  own,  that  the  friendly  regards  of 
the  Indians  became  evidently  more  active  in  his  fa- 
vour after  this  exhibition. 

"  And  now,"  said  Chorley,  "  it  is  well  I  have  some 
of  my  marks  about  me,  for  I  can  easily  put  my  signa- 
ture to  that  treaty  without  scrawl  of  pen,  or  taking  half 
the  trouble  that  it  must  have  given  the  worker  of  these 
beads.  But,  hear  me,  chiefs,  I  don't  work  for  nothing ; 
I  must  have  my  pay,  and  as  it  don't  come  out  ot  your 
pockets,  I  look  to  have  no  refusal." 

"  The  chief  of  the  great  canoe  will  speak." 

"  Yes,  and  first  to  show  that  I  mean  to  act  as  well 
as  speak,  here  is  my  totem — the  totem  of  my  crew  or 
tribe  as  you  call  it.  I  put  it  on,  and  trust  to  have  fair 
play  out  of  you."  As  he  spoke,  he  took  from  his  pock- 
et a  small  leaden  anchor,  such  as  are  now-a-days  num- 
bered among  the  playthings  of  children,  but  which  at 
that  period  made  no  unfrequent  ornament  to  the  sea- 
man's jacket.  A  thorn  from  a  neighbouring  branch 
secured  it  to  the  wampum,  and  the  engagement  of  the 
sea  chief  was  duly  ratified.  Having  done  this,  he 
proceeded  to  unfold  his  expectations.  He  claimed, 
among  other  things,  in  consideration  of  the  service  of 
himself  and  the  fifteen  men  whom  he  should  command 
in  the  insurrection,  the  possession  of  all  slaves  who 
should  be  taken  by  him  from  the  Carolinians  ;  and  that 
unless  they  offered  resistance,  they  should  not  be  slain 
in  the  war. 

"  I  don't  want  better  pay  than  that,"  said  he,  "  but 
that  I  must  and  will  have,  or  d — n  the  blow  I  strike  in 
•he  matter." 

The  terms  of  the  seaman  had  thus  far  undergone 
development,  when  Sanutee  started  suddenly,  and  his 
eyes,  flushed  seemingly  with  some  new  interest,  were 

•y* 


78  THE    Y/EMASSEE. 

busied  in  scrutinizing  the  little  circuit  of  wood  on  the 
edge  of  which  their  conversation  had  been  carried  on, 
Ishiagaska  betrayed  a  similar  consciousness  of  an 
intruder's  presence,  and  the  wampum  belt  was  rolled 
up  hurriedly  by  one  of  the  chiefs,  while  the  other 
maintained  his  watchfulness  upon  the  brush  from 
whence  the  interruption  had  come.  There  was  some 
reason  for  the  alarm,  though  the  unpractised  sense  of 
the  white  man  had  failed  to  perceive  it.  It  was  there 
that  our  old  acquaintance,  Hector,  despatched  as  a  spy 
upon  the  progress  of  those  whom  his  master  suspected 
to  be  engaged  in  mischief,  had  sought  concealment 
while  seeking  his  information.  Unfortunately  for  the 
black,  as  he  crept  along  on  hands  and  knees,  a  fallen  and 
somewhat  decayed  tree  lay  across  his  path,  some  of  the 
branches  of  which  protruded  entirely  out  of  the  cover, 
and  terminated  within  sight  of  the  three  conspirators, 
upon  the  open  plain.  In  crawling  cautiously  enough 
over  the  body  of  the  tree,  the  branches  thus  exposed 
were  agitated,  and  though  but  slightly,  yet  sufficiently  for 
the  keen  sight  of  an  Indian  warrior.  Hector,  all  the 
while,  ignorant  of  the  protrusion  within  their  gaze  of 
the  agitated  members,  in  his  anxiety  to  gain  more  of  the 
latter  words  of  the  sailor,  so  interesting  to  his  own 
colour,  and  a  portion  of  which  had  met  his  ear,  incau- 
tiously pushed  forwai-d  over  the  tree,  crawling  all  the 
way  like  a  snake,  and  seeking  to  shelter  himself  in  a 
little  clump  that  interposed  itself  between  him  and  those 
he  was  approaching.  As  he  raised  his  head  above  the 
earth,  he  beheld  the  glance  of  Sanutee  fixed  upon  the 
very  bush  behind  which  he  lay  ;  the  bow  uplifted,  and 
his  eye  ranging  from  stem  to  point  of  the  long  arrow. 
In  a  moment  the  negro  sunk  to  the  level  of  the  ground  ; 
but  in  doing  so  precipitately,  disturbed  still  more  the 
branches  clustering  around  him.  The  lapse  of  a  few 
moments  without  any  assault,  persuaded  Hector  to 
believe  that  all  danger  was  passed ;  and  he  was»just 
ibout  to  lift  his  head  for  another  survey,  when  he  felt 
'he  entire  weight  of  a  heavy  body  upon  his  back. 
While  the  black  had  lain  quiet,  in  those  few  moments, 


THE    YEMASSEE.  79 

Sanutee  had  swept  round  a  turn  of  the  woods,  and  with 
s.  single  bound  after  noticing  the  person  of  the  spy, 
had  placed  his  feet  upon  him. 

"  Hello,  now,  who  de  debble  dat  ?  Get  off,  I  tell 
you.  Wha'for  you  do  so  to  Hector  ?"  Thus  shouting 
confusedly,  the  negro,  taken  in  the  very  act,  with  a 
tone  of  considerable  indignation,  addressed  his  assail- 
ant, while  struggling  violently  all  the  time  at  his  extri- 
cation. His  struggles  only  enabled  him  to  see  his  cap- 
tor, who,  calling  out  to  Ishiagaska,  in  a  moment,  with 
his  assistance,  dragged  forth  the  spy  from  his.  uncon- 
cealing  cover.  To  do  Hector's  courage  all  manner  of 
justice,  he  battled  violently ;  threatening  his  captors 
dreadfully  with  the  vengeance  of  his  master.  But  his 
efforts  ceased  as  the  hatchet  of  Ishiagaska  gleamed 
over  his  eyes,  and  he  was  content,  save  in  words, 
which  he  continued  to  pour  forth  with  no  little  fluency, 
to  forego  his  further  opposition  to  the  efforts  which 
they  now  made  to  keep  him  down,  while  binding  his 
arms  behind  him  with  a  thong  of  hide  which  Ishia- 
gaska readily  produced.  The  cupidity  of  Chorley 
soon  furnished  them  with  a  plan  for  getting  rid  of  him. 
Under  his  suggestion,  driving  the  prisoner  before  them, 
with  the  terrors  of  knife  and  hatchet,  they  soon  reached 
the  edge  of  the  river  ;  and  after  some  search,  found  the 
rattlesnake's  point,  where  the  boat  had  been  stationed  in 
waiting.  With  the  assistance  of  the  two  sailors  in  it,  the 
seats  were  taken  up,  and  the  captive,  kicking,  struggling, 
and  threatening,  though  all  in  vain,  was  tumbled  in; 
the  seats  replaced  above  him,  the  seamen  sitting  upon 
them  ;  and  every  chance  of  a  long  captivity,  and  that 
foreign  slavery  against  which  his  master  had  fore- 
warned him,  in  prospect  before  his  thoughts.  The 
further  arrangements  between  the  chiefs  and  the  sailor 
took  place  on  shore,  out  of  Hector's  hearing.  In 
a  little  while,  it  ceased — the  Yemassees  took  their 
way  up  the  river  to  Pocota-ligo,  while  Chorley,  return- 
ing to  his  boat,  bringing  the  deer  along,  which  he 
tumbled  in  upon  the  legs  of  the  negro,  took  his  seat 
in  the  stern,  and  the  men  pulled  steadily  off  for  the 


60  THE   YEMASSEE. 

vessel,  keeping  nigh  the  opposite  shore,  and  avoiding 
that  side  upon  which  the  settlements  of  the  Carolinians 
were  chiefly  to  be  found.  As  they  pursued  their  way, 
a  voice  hailed  them  from  the  banks,  to  which  the  sailor 
gave  no  reply ;  but  immediately  changing  the  direc- 
tion of  the  boat,  put  her  instantly  into  the  centre  of 
the  stream.  But  the  voice  was  known  to  Hector  as 
that  of  Granger,  the  Indian  trader,  and  with  a  despe- 
rate effort,  raising  his  head  from  the  uncomfortable 
place  where  it  had  been  laid  on  a  dead  level  with  his 
body,  he  yelled  out  to  the  trader,  with  his  utmost 
pitch  of  voice,  vainly  endeavouring  through  the  mists 
of  evening,  which  now  hung  heavily  around,  to  make 
out  the  person  to  whom  he  spoke.  A  salutary  blow 
from  the  huge  fist  of  the  sailor,  driven  into  the  up- 
rising face  of  the  black,  admonished  him  strongly 
against  any  future  imprudence,  while  driving  him  back 
with  all  the  force  of  a  sledge-hammer  to  the  shelter 
of  his  old  position.  There  was  no  reply  that  the 
negro  heard  to  his  salutation ;  and  in  no  long  time 
after,  the  vessel  was  reached,  and  Hector  was  soon 
consigned  to  a  safe  quarter  in  the  hold,  usually  provided 
for  such  freight,  and  kept  to  await  the  arrival  of  as 
many  companions  in  captivity,  as  the  present  enter- 
prise of  the  pirate  captain,  for  such  is  Master  Richaid 
Chorley,  promised  to  procure. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"  Why  goes  he  forth  again — what  is  the  quest, 
That  from  his  cottage  home,  and  the  warm  heart, 
Blest  that  its  warmth  is  his,  carries  him  forth 
By  night,  into  the  mazy  solitude  ?" 

The  boats,  side  by  side,  of  Sanutee  and  IshiagasKa, 
crossed  the  river  at  a  point  just  below  Pocota-ligo.  It 
was  there  that  Sanutee  landed — the  other  chief  cor 


THE    YEMASSEE.  81 

tinued  his  progress  to  the  town.  But  a  few  words, 
and  those  of  stern  resolve,  passed  between  them  at 
separation ;  but  those  words  were  volumes.  They 
were  the  words  of  revolution  and  strife,  and  announced 
the  preparation  of  the  people  not  less  than  of  the  two 
chiefs,  for  the  commencement,  with  brief  delay,  of 
those  terrors  which  were  now  the  most  prominent  ima- 
ges in  their  minds.  The  night  was  fixed  among 
hem  for  the  outbreak,  the  several  commands  ar- 
ranged, and  the  intelligence  brought  by  the  sailor,  in- 
formed them  of  a  contemplated  attack  of  the  Spaniards 
by  sea  upon  the  Carolinian  settlements,  while  at  the 
same  time  another  body  was  in  progress  over  land  to 
coalesce  with  them  in  their  operations.  This  latter 
force  could  not  be  very  distant,  and  it  was  understood 
that  when  the  scouts  should  return  with  accounts  of 
its  approach,  the  signal  should  be  given  for  the  general 
massacre. 

"  They  shall  die — they  shall  all  perish,  and  their 
scalps  shall  shrivel  around  the  long  pole  in  the  lodge 
of  the  warrior,"  exclaimed  Ishiagaska,  fiercely,  to  his 
brother  chief  in  their  own  language.  The  response 
of  Sanutee  was  in  a  different  temper,  though  recogni- 
sing the  same  necessity. 

"  The  Yemassee  must  be  free,"  said  the  elder 
chief,  solemnly,  in  his  sonorous  tones — "the  Manneyto 
will  bring  him  freedom — he  will  take  the  burden  from 
his  shoulders,  and  set  him  up  against  the  tree  by  the 
wayside.  He  will  put  the  bow  into  his  hands — he  will 
strengthen  him  for  the  chase ;  there  shall  be  no  pale- 
faces along  the  path  to  rob  him  of  venison — to  put 
blows  upon  his  shoulders.  The  Yemassee  shall  be 
free." 

"  He  shall  drink  blood  for  strength. — He  shall  hunt 
the  track  of  the  English  to  the  sounds  of  the  big  waters  ; 
and  the  war-whoop  shall  ring  death  in  the  ear  that 
sleeps,"  cried  Ishiagaska,  with  a  furious  exultation. 

"  Let  them  go,  Ishiagaska,  let  them  go  from  the 
Yemassee — let  the  warrior  have  no  stop  in  the  chase, 
when  he  would  strike  the  brown  deer  on  the  edge  of 
P3 


82  THE    YEMASSEE. 

the  swamp.  Let  them  leave  the  home  of  the  Yemassee, 
and  take  the  big  canoe  over  the  waters,  and  the  toma- 
hawk of  Sanutee  shall  be  buried — it  should  drink  no 
blood  from  the  English." 

"  They  will  not  go,"  exclaimed  the  other  fiercely — 
"  there  must  be  blood — the  white  man  will  not  go. 
His  teeth  are  in  the  trees,  and  he  eats  into  the  earth 
for  his  own." 

"  Thou  hast  said,  Ishiagaska — there  must  be  blood — 
they  will  not  go.  The  knife  of  the  Yemassee  must 
be  red.  But — not  yet — not  yet !  The  moon  must 
sleep  first — the  Yemassee  is  a  little  child  till  the  moon 
sleeps,  but  then — " 

"  He  is  a  strong  man,  with  a  long  arrow,  and  a  tom- 
ahawk like  the  Manneyto." 

"  It  is  good — the  arrow  shall  fly  to  the  heart,  and 
the  tomahawk  shall  sink  deep  into  the  head.  The 
Yemassee  shall  have  his  lands,  and  his  limbs  shall  be 
free  in  the  hunt."  Thus,  almost  in  a  strain  of  lyric 
enthusiasm,  for  a  little  while  they  continued,  until,  hav- 
ing briefly  arranged  for  a  meeting  with  other  chiefs  of 
their  party  for  the  day  ensuing,  they  separated,  and  the 
night  had  well  set  in  before  Sanutee  reappeared  in  the 
cabin  of  his  wife. 

He  returned  gloomy  and  abstracted — his  mind  brood- 
ing over  schemes  of  war  and  violence.  He  was  about 
to  plunge  his  nation  into  all  the  difficulties  and  dangers 
of  a  strife  with  the  colony,  still  in  its  infancy,  but  even 
in  its  infancy,  powerful  to  the  Indians — with  a  peo- 
ple with  whom  they  had,  hitherto,  always  been  at 
peace  and  on  terms  of  the  most  friendly  intercourse. 
Sanutee  felt  the  difficulties  of  this  former  relation 
doubly  to  increase  those  which  necessarily  belong  to 
war.  He  had,  however,  well  deliberated  the  matter, 
and  arrived  at  a  determination,  so  fraught  with  peril 
not  only  to  himself  but  to  his  people,  only  after  a  per- 
fect conviction  of  its  absolute  necessity.  Yet  such  a 
decision  was  a  severe  trial  to  a  spirit  framed  as  his — 
a  spirit,  which,  as  in  the  case  of  Logan,  desired  peace 
rather  than  war.     The  misfortune  with  him,  howeve 


THE    YEMASSEE.  83 

consisted  in  this — he  was  a  patriot  rather  than  a  sage, 
and  though  lacking  nothing  of  that  wisdom  which  may 
exist  in  a  mind  not  yet  entirely  stripped  of  all  warmth — 
all  national  veneration, — he  could  not  coldly  calculate 
chances  and  changes,  injurious  and  possibly  fatal  to  his 
people,  tamely  to  predict,  without  seeking  also  to  di- 
vert them.  At  the  first,  misled  as  were  the  Indians  gen- 
erally, he  had  been  friendly  to  the  settlers — he  had  cor- 
dially welcomed  them — yielded  the  lands  of  his  people 
graciously,  and  when  they  were  assailed  by  other 
tribes,  had  himself  gone  forth  in  their  battle  even 
against  the  Spaniards  of  St.  Augustine,  with  whom  he 
now  found  it  politic  to  enter  into  alliance.  But  his 
eyes  were  now  fully  opened  to  his  error.  It  is  in  the 
nature  of  civilization  to  own  an  appetite  for  domin- 
ion and  extended  sway,  which  the  world  that  is  known 
will  always  fail  to  satisfy.  It  is  for  her,  then,  to  seek 
and  to  create,  and  not  with  the  Macedonian  barbarian,  to 
weep  for  the  triumph  of  the  unknown.  Conquest  and 
sway  are  the  great  leading  principles  of  her  existence, 
and  the  savage  must  join  in  her  train,  or  she  rides 
over  him  relentlessly  in  her  for-ever-onward  progress. 
Though  slow,  perhaps,  i«  her  approaches,  Sanutee 
was  sage  enough  at  length  to  foresee  all  this,  as  the  in- 
evitable result  of  her  progressive  march.  The  evi- 
dence rose  daily  before  his  eyes  in  the  diminution 
of  the  game — in  the  frequent  insults  to  his  people,  un- 
redressed by  their  obtrusive  neighbours — and  in  the 
daily  approach  of  some  new  borderer  in  contact  with 
the  Indian  hunters,  whose  habits  were  foreign,  and 
whose  capacities  were  obviously  superior  to  theirs. 
The  desire  for  new  lands,  and  the  facility  with  which 
the  whites,  in  many  cases,  taking  advantage  of  the 
weaknesses  of  their  chiefs,  had  been  enabled  to  pro- 
cure them,  impressed  Sanutee  strongly  with  the  mel- 
ancholy prospect  in  reserve  for  the  Yemassee.  He, 
probably,  would  not  live  to  behold  them  landless,  and 
his  own  children  might,  to  the  last,  have  range  enough 
for  the  chase  ;  but  the  nation  itself  was  in  the  thought 
of  the  unselfish  chieftain,  upon  whom  its  general  voice 


84  THE    YEMASSEE. 

had  conferred  the  title  of  "  the  well-beloved  of  Man- 
neyto." 

He  threw  himself  upon  the  bearskin  of  his  cabin 
and  Matiwan  stood  beside  him.  She  was  not  young — ■ 
she  was  not  beautiful,  but  her  face  was  softly  brown, 
and  her  eye  was  dark,  while  her  long  black  hair  came 
down  her  back  with  a  flow  of  girlish  luxuriance.  Her 
face  was  that  of  a  girl,  plump,  and  though  sorrow  had 
made  free  with  it,  the  original  expression  must  have 
been  one  of  extreme  liveliness.  Even  now,  when  she 
laughed,  and  the  beautiful  white  teeth  glittered  through 
her  almost  purple  lips,  she  wore  all  the  expression 
of  a  child.  The  chief  loved  her  as  a  child  rather  than 
as  a  wife,  and  she  rather  adored  than  loved  the  chief. 
At  this  moment,  however,  as  she  stood  before  him, 
robed  loosely  in  her  long  white  garment,  and  with  an 
apron  of  the  soft  skin  of  the  spotted  fawn,  he  had  nei- 
ther words  nor  looks  for  Matiwan.  She  brought  him 
a  gourd  filled  with  a  simple  beer  common  to  their  peo- 
ple, and  extracted  from  the  pleasanter  roots  of  the  for- 
est, with  the  nature  of  which,  all  Indians,  in  their  rude 
pharmacy,  are  familiar.  Unconsciously  he  drank  off 
the  beverage,  and  without  speaking  returned  the  gourd 
to  the  woman.     She  addressed  him  inquiringly  at  last, 

"  The  chief,  Sanutee,  has  sent  an  arrow  from  his 
bow,  yet  brings  he  no  venison  from  the  woods  ?" 

The  red  of  his  cheek  grew  darker,  as  the  speech 
reminded  him  of  his  loss,  not  only  of  dog,  but  deer  ; 
and  though  the  sailor  had  proffered  him  the  meat, 
which  his  pride  had  compelled  him  to  reject,  he  could 
not  but  feel  that  he  had  been  defrauded  of  the  spoils 
which  had  been  in  reality  his  own,  while  sustaining 
a  severe  loss  beside  :  querulous,  therefore,  was  the 
manner  of  his  reply : — 

"  Has  Matiwan  been  into  the  tree-top  to-day,  for 
the  voice  of  the  bird  which  is  painted,  that  she  must 
sing  with  a  foolish  noise  in  the  ear  of  Sanutee  ?" 

The  woman  was  rebuked  into  silence  for  the 
moment,  but  with  a  knowledge  of  his  mood,  she  sunk 
back  directly  behind  him,  upon  a  corner  of  the  bear- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  85 

skin,  and  after  a  few  prefatory  notes,  as  if  singing 
for  her  own  exercise  and  amusement,  she  carolled 
forth  in  an  exquisite  ballad  voice,  one  of  those  little 
fancies  of  the  Indians,  which  may  be  found  among  nearly 
all  the  tribes  from  Carolina  to  Mexico. — It  recorded 
the  achievements  of  that  Puck  of  the  American  forests, 
the  mocking-bird  ;  and  detailed  the  manner  in  which 
he  procured  his  imitative  powers.  The  strain,  play- 
fully simple  in  the  sweet  language  of  the  original, 
must  necessarily  lose  in  the  more  frigid  verse  of  the 
translator. 

THE  "  COONEE-LATEE,"    OR  "TRICK-TONGUE." 

I. 

"  As  the  Coonee-latee  looked  forth  from  his  leaf, 
He  saw  below  him  a  Yemasee  chief, 

In  his  war-paint,  all  so  grim — 
Sung  boldly,  then,  the  Coonee-latee, 
I,  too,  will  seek  for  mine  enemy, 

And  when  the  young  moon  grows  dim, 
I'll  slip  through  the  leaves,  nor  shake  them, — 
I'll  come  on  my  foes,  nor  wake  them, — 

And  I'll  take  off  their  scalps  like  him. 

II. 

"  In  the  forest  grove,  where  the  young  birds  slept, 
Slyly  by  night,  through  the  leaves  he  crept 

With  a  footstep  free  and  bold — 
From  bush  to  bush,  and  from  tree  to  tree, 
They  lay,  wherever  his  eye  could  see, 

The  bright,  the  dull,  the  young,  and  the  old ; 
I'll  cry  my  war-whoop,  said  he,  at  breaking 
The  sleep,  that  shall  never  know  awaking, 

And  their  hearts  shall  soon  grow  cold. 

III. 
"  But,  as  nigher  and  nigher,  the  spot  he  crept, 
And  saw  that  with  open  mouth  they  slept, 

The  thought  grew  strong  in  his  brain — 
And  from  bird  to  bird,  with  a  cautious  tread, 
He  unhook'd  the  tongue,  out  of  every  head, 

Then  flew  to  his  perch  again  ; — . 
And    thus    it  is,  whenever  he   chooses, 
The  tongues  of  all  the  birds  he  uses, 

And  none  of  them  dare  complain."* 

The    song  had  something  of  the    desired    effect, 
though   still  the   chief    said  nothing.      He   seemed 

*  The  grove  is  generally  silent  when  the  mocking-bird  sings. 

Vol  I.  8 


86  THE    YEMASSEE. 

soothed,  however,  and  as  a  beautiful  pet  fawn  bounded 
friskingly  into  the  lodge,  from  the  enclosure  which  ad- 
joined it,  and  leaped  playfully  upon  him,  as,  with  an 
indulged  habit,  he  encouraged  its  caresses  ;  while, 
also  encouraged  by  this  show,  Matiwan  herself  drew 
nigher,  and  her  arm  rested  upon  his  shoulder.  The 
chief,  though  still  silent  and  musing,  suffered  his  hand 
to  glide  over  the  soft  skin  and  shrinking  back  of  the 
animal,  which,  still  more  encouraged  by  his  caress, 
now  thrust  its  head  into  his  bosom,  while  its  face  was 
even  occasionally  pressed  upon  his  own.  On  a  sud- 
den, however,  the  warrior  started,  as  his  hand  was 
pressed  upon  a  thick  cluster  of  large  and  various 
beads,  which  had  been  wound  about  the  neck  of  the 
playful  favourite ;  and,  as  if  there  had  been  contamina- 
tion in  the  touch,  thrusting  the  now  affrighted  animal 
away,  he  cried  out  to  the  shrinking  woman,  in  a  voice 
of  thunder  : — 

"  Matiwan,  the  white  trader  has  been  in  the  lodge 
of  Sanutee  !" 

"  No,  chief — Sanutee — not  Granger — he  has  not 
been  in  the  lodge  of  the  chief." 

"The  beads  !  Matiwan — -the  beads  !"  he  cried,  furi- 
ously, as  he  tore  the  cluster  from  the  neck  of  the  fawn, 
and  dashing  them  to  the  ground,  trampled  them  fiercely 
under  his  feet. 

"  The  boy, — Sanutee — the  boy,  Occonestoga — " 

"  The  dog !  came  he  to  the  lodge  of  Sanutee  when 
Sanutee  said  no  !  Matiwan — woman  !  Thy  ears 
have  forgotten  the- words  of  the  chief — of  Sanutee — 
thine  eyes  have  looked  upon  a  dog." 

"  'Tis  the  child  of  Matiwan — Matiwan  has  no  child 
but  Occonestoga."  And  she  threw  herself  at  length, 
with  her  face  to  the  ground,  at  the  foot  of  her  lord. 

"  Speak,  Matiwan — darkens  the  dog  still  in  the 
lodge  of  Sanutee  ?" 

"  Sanutee,  no  !  Occonestoga  has  gone  with  the  chiefs 
of  the  English,  to  talk  in  council  with  the  Yemassee." 

"Ha — thou  speakest !  —  look,  Matiwan  —  where 
stood  the  sun  when  the  chiefs  of  the  pale-faces  came  ? 
Speak  !" 


THE    YEMASSEE.  87 

"  The  sun  stood  high  over  the  lodge  of  Matiwan, 
and  saw  not  beneath  the  tree  top." 

"  They  come  for  more  lands — they  would  have  all ; 
but  they  know  not  that  Sanutee  lives — they  say  he 
sleeps — that  he  has  no  tongue, — that  his  people  have 
forgotten  his  voice  !  They  shall  see."  As  he  spoke, 
he  pointed  to  the  gaudy  beads  which  lay  strewed  over 
the  floor  of  the  cabin,  and,  with  a  bitter  sarcasm  of 
glance  and  speech,  thus  addressed  her  : — 

"  What  made  thee,  a  chief  of  the  Yemassees, 
Matiwan,  to  sell  the  lands  of  my  people  to  the  pale- 
faces for  their  painted  glass  ?  They  would  buy  thee, 
and  the  chief,  and  the  nation — all ;  and  with  what  1 
With  that  which  is  not  worth,  save  that  it  is  like  thine 
eye.  And  thou — didst  thou  pray  to  the  Manneyto  to 
send  thee  from  thy  people,  that  thou  mightst  carry 
water  for  the  pale-faces  from  the  spring  ?  Go — thou 
hast  done  wrong,  Matiwan." 

"  They  put  the  painted  glass  into  the  hands  of 
Matiwan,  but  they  asked  not  for  lands ;  they  gave 
it  to  Matiwan,  for  she  was  the  wife  of  Sanutee,  the 
chief." 

"  They  lied  with  a  forked  tongue.  It  was  to  buy 
the  lands  of  our  people ;  it  was  to  send  us  into  the 
black  swamps,  where  the  sun  sleeps  for  ever.  But  I 
will  go — where  is  the  dog — the  slave  of  the  pale-faces  1 
where  went  Occonestoga  with  the  English  ?" 

"  To  Pocota-ligo — they  would  see  the  chiefs  of 
Yemassee." 

"  To  buy  them  with  the  painted  glass,  and  red  cloth, 
and  strong  water.  Manneyto  be  with  my  people, 
for  the  chiefs  are  slaves  to  the  English  ;  and  they  will 
give  the  big  forests  of  my  fathers  to  be  cut  down  by 
the  accursed  axes  of  the  pale-face.  But  they  bliiv] 
me  not — they  buy  not  Sanutee  !  The  knife  must  have 
blood — the  Yemassee  must  have  his  home  with  the 
old  grave  of  his  father.     I  will  go-to  Pocota-ligo." 

"Sanutee, chief — 'tis  Matiwan,  the  mother  of  Occo- 
nestoga that  speaks;  thou  wilt  see  the  young  chief — 
thou  wilt  look  upon  the  boy  at  Pocota-ligo.     Oh !  well- 


88  THE    YEMASSEE. 

beloved  of  the  Yemassee — look  not  to  strike."  She 
sunk  at  his  feet  as  she  uttered  the  entreaty,  anc1  her 
arms  clung  about  his  knees. 

"  I  would  not  see  Occonestoga,  Matiwan — for  he  is 
thy  son.  Manneyto  befriend  thee  ;  but  thou  hast 
been  the  mother  to  a  dog."  . 

"  Thou  wilt  not  see  to  strike — " 

"  I  would  not  see  him  !  but  let  him  not  stand  in  the 
path  of  Sanutee.  Look,  Matiwan — the  knife  is  in  my 
hands,  and  there  is  death  for  the  dog,  and  a  curse  for 
the  traitor,  from  the  black  swamps  of  Opitchi-Man- 
neyto."* 

He  said  no  more,  and  she,  too,  was  speechless. 
She  could  only  raise  her  hands  and  eyes,  in  imploring 
expressions  to  his  glance,  as,  seizing  upon  his  toma- 
hawk, which  he  had  thrown  beside  him  upon  the  skin, 
he  rushed  forth  from  the  lodge,  and  took  the  path  to 
Pocota-ligo. 


CHAPTER  X. 

-"  Ye  shall  give  all 


The  old  homes  of  your  fathers,  and  their  graves, 
To  be  the  spoils  of  strangers,  and  go  forth 
A  Seminole."t 

The  house  of  council,  in  the  town  of  Pocota-ligo, 
was  filled  that  night  with  an  imposing  conclave.  The 
gauds  and  the  grandeur — the  gilded  mace,  the  guardian 
sword,  the  solemn  stole,  the  rich  pomps  of  civilization 
were  wanting,  it  is  true  ;  but  how  would  these  have 
shown  in  that  dark  and  primitive  assembly!  A  single 
hall — huge  and  cumbrous — built  of  the  unhewn  trees 
of  the  forest,  composed  the  entire  building.  A  single 
door  furnished  the   means  of  access  and  departure. 

*  The  evil  principle  of  the  Yemassees. 
t  i.  e.  an  exile. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  89 

The  floor  was  the  native  turf,  here  and  there  con- 
cealed by  the  huge  bearskin  of  some  native  chief,  and 
they  sat  around,  each  in  his  place,  silent,  solemn,  but 
with  the  sagacious  mind  at  work,  and  with  features 
filled  with  the  quiet  deliberateness  of  the  sage. 
Motionless  like  themselves,  stood  the  torch-bearers, 
twelve  in  number,  behind  them — standing,  and  obser- 
vant, and  only  varying  their  position  when  it  became 
necessary  to  renew  with  fresh  materials  the  bright 
fires  of  the  ignited  pine  which  they  bore.  These 
were  all  the  pomps  of  the  savage  council — but  the 
narrow  sense,  alone,  would  object  to  their  deficiency. 
The  scene  is  only  for  the  stern  painter  of  the  dusky 
and  the  sublime — it  would  suffer  in  other  hands. 

Huspah  was  at  this  time  the  superior  chief — the 
reigning  king,  if  we  may  apply  that  title  legitimately 
to  the  highest  dignitary  of  a  people  with  a  form  of 
government  like  that  of  the  Yemassees.  He  bore  the 
name,  though  in  name  only  might  he  claim  to  be  con- 
sidered in  that  character.  In  reality,  there  was  no 
king  over  the  nation.  It  was  ruled  by  a  number  of 
chiefs,  each  equal  in  authority,  though  having  several 
tribes  for  control,  yet  the  majority  of  whom  were  re- 
quired to  coalesce  in  any  leading  national  measures. 
These  chiefs  were  elective,  and  from  these  the  superior, 
or  presiding  chief,  was  duly  chosen  ;  all  of  these 
without  exception  were  accountable  to  the  nation, 
though  such  accountability  was  rather  the  result  of 
popular  impulse  than  of  any  other  more  legitimate  or 
customary  regulation.  It  occurred  sometimes,  how- 
ever, that  a  favourite  ruler,  presuming  upon  his  strength 
with  the  people,  ventured  beyond  the  prescribed 
boundary,  and  transcended  the  conceded  privileges  of 
his  station ;  but  such  occurrences  were  not  frequent, 
and  when  the  case  did  happen,  the  offender  was  most 
commonly  made  to  suffer  the  unmeasured  penalties 
always  consequent  upon  any  outbreak  of  popular  indig- 
nation. As  in  the  practices  of  more  civilized  com- 
munities, securing  the  mercenaries,  a  chief  has  been 
known  to  enter  into  treaties,  unsanctioned  by  his 
8* 


90  THE    YEMASSEE. 

brother  chiefs  ;  and,  forming  a  party  resolute  to  sustain 
him,  has  brought  about  a  civil  war  in  the  nation,  and, 
perhaps,  the  secession  from  the  great  body  of  many  of 
its  tribes.  Of  this  sort  was  the  case  of  the  celebrated 
Creek  chief,  Mackintosh — whose  summary  execution 
in  Georgia,  but  a  few  years  ago,  by  the  indignant 
portion  of  his  nation,  disapproving  of  the  treaty  which 
-he  had  made  with  the  whites  for  the  sale  of  lands, 
resulted  in  the  emigration  of  a  large  minority  of  that 
people  to  the  west. 

Among  the  Yemassees,  Huspah,  the  oldest  chief, 
was  tacitly  placed  at  the  head  of  his  caste,  and  these 
formed  the  nobility  of  the  nation.  This  elevation 
was  nominal,  simply  complimentary  in  its  character, 
and  without  any  advantages  not  shared  in  common 
with  the  other  chiefs.  The  honour  was  solely  given  to 
past  achievements  ;  for  at  this  time,  Huspah,  advanced 
in  years  and  greatly  enfeebled,  was  almost  in  his 
second  infancy.  The  true  power  of  the  nation  rested 
in  Sanutee — his  position  was  of  all  others  the  most 
enviable,  as  upon  him  the  eyes  of  the  populace  gen- 
erally turned  in  all  matters  of  trying  and  important 
character ;  and  his  brother  chiefs  were  usually  com- 
pelled to  yield  to  the  popular  will  as  it  was  supposed 
to  be  expressed  through  the  lips  of  one  styled  by 
general  consent,  the  "  well-beloved"  of  the  nation.  A 
superiority  so  enviable  with  the  people  had  the  una- 
voidable effect  of  subtracting  from  the  favourable 
estimate  put  upon  him  by  his  brother  chiefs  ;  and  the 
feelings  of  jealous  dislike  which  many  of  them  enter- 
tained towards  him,  had  not  been  entirely  concealed 
from  the  favourite  himself.  This  was  shown  in  various 
forms,  and  particularly  in  the  fact  that  he  was  most 
generally  in  a  minority,  no  ways  desirable  at  any  time, 
but  more  particularly  annoying  to  the  patriotic  mind  of 
Sanutee  at  the  present  moment,  as  he  plainly  foresaw 
the  evil  consequences  to  the  people  of  this  hostility  on 
*he  part  of  the  chiefs  to  himself.  The  suggestions 
which  he  made  in  council  were  usually  met  with 
decided  opposition  by  a  regularly  combined   party, 


THE    YEMASSEE.  91 

and  it  was  only  necessary  to  identify  with  his  name 
the  contemplated  measure,  to  rally  against  it  sufficient 
opposition  for  its  defeat  in  council.  The  nation,  it  is 
true,  did  him  justice,  but,  to  his  thought,  there  was 
nothing  grateful  in  the  strife. 

Under  this  state  of  things  at  home,  it  maybe  readily 
understood  why  the  hostility  of  Sanutee  to  the  fast- 
approaching  English,  should  find  little  sympathy  with 
the  majority  of  those  around  him.  Accordingly,  we 
find,  that  as  the  jealousy  of  the  favourite  grew  more 
and  more  hostile  to  the  intruders,  they  became,  for 
this  very  reason,  more  and  more  favoured  by  the  party 
most  envious  of  his  position.  No  one  knew  better 
than  Sanutee  the  true  nature  of  this  difference.  He 
was  a  far  superior  politician  to  those  around  him,  and 
had  long  since  foreseen  the  sort  of  warfare  he  would  be 
compelled  to  wage  with  his  associates  when  aiming  at 
the  point  to  which  at  this  moment  every  feeling  of  his 
soul  and  every  energy  of  his  mind  were  devoted.  It 
was  this  knowledge  that  chiefly  determined  upon  the 
conspiracy — the  plan  of  which,  perfectly  unknown 
to  the  people,  was  only  intrusted  to  the  bosom  of  a 
few  chiefs  having  like  feelings  with  himself.  These 
difficulties  of  his  situation  grew  more  fully  obvious  to 
his  mind,  as,  full  of  evil  auguries  from  the  visit  of  the 
English  commissioners,  he  took  the  lonely  path  from 
his  own  lodge  to  the  council-house  of  Pocota-ligo. 

He  arrived  just  in  season.  As  he  feared,  the  rival 
chiefs  had  taken  advantage  of  his  absence  to  give 
audience  to  the  commissioners  of  treaty  from  the 
Carolinians,  charged  with  the  power  to  purchase  from 
the  Yemassees  a  large  additional  tract  of  land,  which, 
if  sold  to  the  whites,  would  bring  their  settlements 
directly  upon  the  borders  of  Pocota-ligo  itself.  The 
whites  had  proceeded,  as  was  usual  in  such  cases,  to 
administer  bribes,  of  one  sort  or  another,  in  the  shape 
of  presents,  to  all  such  persons,  chiefs,  or  people,  as 
were  most  influential  and  seemed  most  able  to  serve 
them.  In  this  manner  had  all  in  that  assembly  been 
appealed  to.     Huspah,   an  old  and   drowsy  Indian, 


92  THE    YEMASSEE. 

tottering  with  pfclsy  from  side  to  side  of  the  skin  upon 
which  he  sat,  was  half  smothered  in  the  wide  folds 
of  a  huge  scarlet  cloak  which  the  commissioners  had 
flung  over  his  shoulders.  Dresses  of  various  shapes, 
colours,  and  decorations,  such  as  might  be  held  most 
imposing  to  the  Indian  eye,  had  been  given  to  each 
in  the  assembly,  and  put  on  as  soon  as  received. 
In  addition  to  these,  other  gifts,  such  as  hatchets, 
knives,  beads,  Sic.  had  been  made  to  minister  to  the 
craving  poverty  of  the  people,  so  that  before  the  arrival 
of  Sanutee,  the  minds  of  the  greater  number  had  been 
prepared  for  a  very  liberal  indulgence  of  any  claim  or 
proffer  which  the  commissioners  had  to  make. 

Sanutee  entered  abruptly,  followed  by  Ishiagaska, 
who,  like  himself,  had  just  had  intelligence  of  the 
council.  There  was  a  visible  start  in  the  assembly 
as  the  old  patriot  came  forward,  full  into  the  centre  of 
the  circle, — surveying,  almost  analyzing  every  feature, 
and  sternly  dwelling  in  his  glance  upon  the  three  com- 
missioners, who  sat  a  little  apart  from  the  chiefs,  upon 
a  sort  of  mat  to  themselves.  Another  mat  held  the 
presents  which  remained  unappropriated  and  had  been 
reserved  for  such  chiefs,  Ishiagaska  and  Sanutee 
among  them,  as  had  not  been  present  in  the  first  distri- 
bution. The  survey  of  Sanutee,  and  the  silence  which 
followed  his  first  appearance  within  the  circle,  lasted 
not  long :  abruptly,  and  with  a  voice  of  strong  but  re- 
strained emotion,  addressing  no  one  in  particular,  but 
with  a  glance  almost  exclusively  given  to  the  com- 
missioners, he  at  length  exclaimed  as  follows,  in  his 
own  strong  language  : — "  Who  came  to  the  lodge  of 
Sanutee  to  say  that  the  chiefs  were  in  eouncil  l  Is 
not  Sanutee  a  chief? — the  Yemassees  call  him  so,  or  he 
dreams.  Is  he  not  the  well-beloved  of  the  Yemassees, 
or  have  his-  brothers  taken  from  him  the  totem  of  his 
tribe  ?  Look,  chiefs,  is  the  broad  arrow  of  Yemassee 
gone  from  the  shoulder  of  Sanutee  ?"  and  as  he  spoke, 
throwing  the  loose  hunting  shirt  open  to  the  shoulder 
he  displayed  to  the  gaze  of  all,  the  curved  arrow 
which  is  the  badge  of  the  Yemassees.     A  general 


THE    YEMASSEE.  93 

silence  in  the  assembly  succeeded  this  speech — none  of 
them  caring  to  answer  for  an  omission  equally  charge 
able  upon  all.  The  eye  of  the  chief  lowered  scorn- 
fully as  it  swept  the  circle,  taking  in  each  face  with  its 
glance ;  then,  throwing  from  his  arm  the  thick  bear- 
skin which  he  carried,  upon  a  vacant  spot  in  the  circle, 
he  took  his  seat  with  the  slow  and  sufficient  dignity  of 
a  Roman  senator,  speaking  as  he  descended. 

"  It  is  well — Sanutee  is  here  in  the  council — he  is  a 
chief  of  the  Yemassees.  He  has  ears  for  the  words 
of  the  English." 

Granger,  the  trader  and  interpreter,  who  stood 
behind  the  commissioners,  signified  to  them  the  willing- 
ness conveyed  in  the  last  words  of  Sanutee,  to  hear 
what  they  had  to  say,  and  Sir  Edmund  Bellinger — then 
newly  created  a  landgrave,  one  of  the  titles  of  Caro- 
linian nobility — the  head  of  the  deputation,  arose 
accordingly,  and  addressing  himself  to  the  new  comer, 
rather  than  to  the  assembly,  proceeded  to  renew  those 
pledges  and  protestations  which  he  had  already  uttered 
to  the  rest.  His  speech  was  immediately  interpreted 
by  Granger,  who,  residing  in  Pocota-ligo,  was  famil- 
iar with  their  language. 

;i  Chiefs  of  the  Yemassee,"  said  Sir  Edmund  Bellin- 
ger— "  we  come  from  your  English  brothers,  and  we 
bring  peace  with  this  belt  of  wampum.  They  have 
told  us  to  say  to  you  that  one  house  covers  the  English 
and  the  Yemassee.  There  is  no  strife  between  us — 
we  are  like  the  children  of  one  father,  and  to  prove 
their  faith  they  have  sent  us  with  words  of  good-will 
and  friendship,  and  to  you,  Sanutee,  as  the  well- 
beloved  chief  of  the  Yemassee,  they  send  this  coat 
which  they  have  worn  close  to  their  hearts,  and  which 
they  would  have  you  wear  in  like  manner,  in  proof  of 
the  love  that  is  between  us." 

Thus  saying,  the  chief  of  the  deputation  presented, 
through  the  medium  of  Granger,  a  rich  but  gaudy 
cloak,  such  as  had  already  been  given  to  Huspah ; — ■ 
but  putting  the  interpreter  aside  and  rejecting  the  gift, 
Sanutee  sternly  replied — 


94  THE    YEMASSEE.       , 

"  Our  English  brother  is  good,  but  Sanutee  asks  not 
for  the  cloak.     Does  Sanutee  complain  of  the  cold  ?'" 

Granger  rendered  this,  and  Bellinger  addressed  him 
in  reply — 

"  The  chief  Sanutee  will  not  reject  the  gift  of  his 
English  brother." 

"  Does  the  white  chief  come  to  the  great  council  ol 
the  Yemassees  as  a  fur  trader ?  Would  he  have  skins 
for  his  coat  V  was  the  reply. 

"  No,  Sanutee — the  English  chief  is  a  great  chief, 
and  does  not  barter  for  skins." 

"  A  great  chief? — he  came  to  the  Yemassee  a  little 
child,  and  we  took  him  into  our  lodges.  We  gave  him 
meat  and  water — " 

"  We  know  this,  Sanutee."  But  the  Yemassee  went 
on  without  heeding  the  interruption. 

"  We  helped  him  with  a  staff  as  he  tottered  through 
the  thick  wood." 

"  True,  Sanutee." 

"  We  showed  him  how  to  trap  the  beaver,*  and  to 
hunt  the  deer — we  made  him  a  lodge  for  his  woman ; 
and  we  sent  our  young  men  on  the  war-path  against  his 
enemy." 

"  We  have  not  forgotten,  we  have  denied  none  of  the 
services,  Sanutee,  which  yourself  and  peoole  have  done 
for  us,"  said  the  deputy. 

"  And  now  he  sends  us  a  coat !"  and  as  the  chief 
uttered  this  unlooked-for  anti-climax,  his  eye  glared 
scornfully  around  upon  the  subservient  portion  of  the 
assembly.  Somewhat  mortified  with  the  tenour  of  the 
sentence  which  the  interpreter  in  the  meantime  had 
repeated  to  him,  Sir  Edmund  Bellinger  would  have 
answered  the  refractory  chief — 

"  No,  but,  Sanutee — " 

Without  heeding  or  seeming  to  hear  him,  the  old 
warrior  went  on — 

"  He  sends  good  words  to  the  Yemassee,  he  gives 
him  painted  glass,  and  makes  him  blind  with  a  water 

*  The  beaver,  originally  taken  in  Carolina,  is  now  extinct. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  #5 

which  is  poison — his  shot  rings  over  our  forests — we 
hide  from  his  long  knife  in  the  cold  swamp,  while 
the  copper  snake  creeps  over  us  as  we  sleep." 

As  soon  as  the  deputy  comprehended  this  speech 
he  replied — 

"  You  do  us  wrong,  Sanutee, — you  have  nothing  to 
fear  from  the  English." 

Without  waiting  for  the  aid  of  the  interpreter,  the 
chief,  who  had  acquired  a  considerable  knowledge  of 
the  simpler  portions  of  the  language,  and  to  whom  this 
sentence  was  clear  enough,  immediately  and  indig- 
nantly exclaimed  in  his  own — addressing  the  chiefs, 
rather  than  replying  to  the  Englishman. 

"  Fear, — Sanutee  has  no  fear  of  (the  English — he 
fears  not  the  Manneyto.  He  only  fears  that  his  people 
may  go  blind  with  the  English  poison  drink, — that  the 
great  chiefs  of  the  Yemassee  may  sell  him  for  a  slave 
to  the  English,  to  plant  his  maize  and  to  be  beaten 
with  a  stick.  But  let  the  ears  of  the  chiefs  hear  the 
voice  of  Sanutee — the  Yemassee  shall  not  be  the  slave 
of  the  pale-face." 

"  There  is  no  reason  for  this  fear,  Sanutee — the 
English  have  always  been  the  friends  of  your  people," 
said  the  chief  of  the  deputation. 

"  Would  the  English  have  more  land  from  the  Ye- 
massee ?  Let  him  speak,  Granger — put  the  words  of 
Sanutee  in  his  ear.     Why  does  he  not  speak?" 

Granger  did  as  directed,  and  Sir  Edmund  replied  : — 

"  The  English  do  want  to  buy  some  of  the  land  of 
your  people — " 

"  Did  not  Sanutee  say  ?  And  the  coat  is  for  the  land,' 
quickly  exclaimed  the  old  chief,  speaking  this  time  ir 
the  English  language. 

"No,  Sanutee,"  was  the  reply — "the  coat  is  a  free 
gift  from  the  English.  They  ask  for  nothing  in  return 
But  we  would  buy  your  land  with  other  things — we 
would  buy  on  the  same  terms  with  that  which  we  bought 
from  the  Cassique  of  Combahee." 

"  The  Cassique  of  Combahee  is  a  dog — he  sells  the 
grave  of  his  father.     I  will  not  sell  the  land  of  my  peo- 


96  THE    YEMASSEE. 

pie.  The  Yemassee  loves  the  old  trees,  and  the  smooth 
waters  where  he  was  born,  and  where  the  bones  of  the 
old  warriors  lie  buried.  I  speak  to  you,  chiefs — it  is 
the  voice  of  Sanutee.  Hear  his  tongue — it  has  ne 
fork — look  on  his  face,  it  does  not  show  lies.  These 
are  scars  of  battle,  when  I  stood  up  for  my  people 
There  is  a  name  for  these  scars — they  do  not  lie. 
Hear  me,  then." 

"  Our  ears  watch,"  was  the  general  response,  as  he 
made  his  address  to  the  council. 

"  It  is  good. — Chiefs  of  the  Yemassee,  now  hear. 
Why  comes  the  English  to  the  lodge  of  our  people  1 
Why  comes  he  with  a  red  coat  to  the  chief — why  brings 
he  beads  and  paints  for  the  eye  of  a  little  boy  1  Why 
brings  he  the  strong  water  for  the  young  man  ?  Why 
makes  he  long  speeches,  full  of  smooth  words — why 
does  he  call  us  brother  ?  He  wants  our  lands.  But 
we  have  no  lands  to  sell.  The  lands  came  from  our 
fathers — they  must  go  to  our  children.  They  do  not 
belong  to  us  to  sell — they  belong  to  our  children  to 
keep.  We  have  sold  too  much  land,  and  the  old  tur- 
key, before  the  sun  sinks  behind  the  trees,  can  fly  over 
all  the  land  that  is  ours.  Shall  the  turkey  have  more 
land  in  a  day  than  the  Yemassee  has  for  his  children? 
Speak  for  the  Yemassee,  chiefs  of  the  broad-arrow — 
speak  for  the  Yemassee — speak  Ishiagaska — speak 
Choluculla — speak,  thou  friend  of  Manneyto,  whose 
words  are  true  as  the  sun,  and  whose  wisdom  comes 
swifter  than  the  lightning — speak,  prophet — speak  Eno- 
ree-Mattee — speak  for  the  Yemassee." 

To  the  high-priest,  or  rather  the  great  prophet  of 
the  nation,  the  latter  portion  of  the  speech  of  Sanutee 
had  been  addressed.  He  was  a  cold,  dark,  stern  look- 
ing man,  gaudily  arrayed  in  a  flowing  garment  of  red, 
a  present  from  the  whites  at  an  early  period,  while  a 
fillet  around  his  head,  of  cloth  stuck  with  the  richest 
feathers,  formed  a  distinguishing  feature  of  dress  from 
any  of  the  rest.  His  voice,  next  to  that  of  Sanutee, 
was  potential  among  the  Indians ;  and  the  chief  well 
knew,  in  appealing  to  him.  Choluculla  and  Ishiagaska, 


THE    YEMASSEE.  97 

that  he  was  secure  of  these,  if  of  none  other  in  the 
council. 

"  Enoree-Mattee  is  the  great  prophet  of  Manneyto — 
he  will  not  sell  the  lands  of  Yemassee." 

"  'Tis  well — speak,  Ishiagaska — speak,  Choluculla" 
-  -exclaimed  Sanutee. 

They  replied  in  the  same  moment : — 

"  The  English  shall  have  no  land  from  the  Yemassee. 
It  is  the  voice  of  Ishiagaska — it  is  the  voice  of  Cholu- 
culla." 

"  It  is  the  voice  of  Sanutee — it  is  the  voice  of  the 
prophet — it  is  the  voice  of  the  Manneyto  himself," 
cried  Sanutee,  with  a  tone  of  thunder,  and  with  a  sol- 
emn emphasis  of  manner  that  seemed  to  set  at  rest  all 
further  controversy  on  the  subject.  But  the  voices 
which  had  thus  spoken  were  all  that  spoke  on  this 
side  of  the  question.  The  English  had  not.  been  inac- 
tive heretofore,  and  what  with  the  influence  gained 
by  their  numerous  presents  and  promises  to  the  other 
chiefs,  and  the  no  less  influential  dislike  and  jealousy 
which  the  latter  entertained  for  the  few  more  con- 
trolling spirits  taking  the  stand  just  narrated,  the 
minds  of  the  greater  number  had  been  well  prepared 
to  make  any  treaty  which  might  be  required  of  them, 
trusting  to  their  own  influence  somewhat,  but  more 
to  the  attractions  of  the  gewgaws  given  in  return  for 
their  lands,  to  make  their  peace  with  the  great  body  of 
the  people  in  the  event  of  their  dissatisfaction.  Ac- 
cordingly, Sanutee  had  scarcely  taken  his  seat,  when 
one  of  the  most  hostile  among  them,  a  brave  but  dis- 
honest chief,  now  arose,  and  addressing  himself  chiefly 
to  Sanutee,  thus  furnished  much  of  the  feeling  and 
answer  for  the  rest : — 

"  Does  Sanutee  speak  for  the  Yemassee — and  where 
are  the  other  chiefs  of  the  broad-arrow  1  Where  are 
Metatchee  and  Huspah — where  is  Oonalatchie,  where 
is  Jarratay-  ^are  they  not  here  ?  It  is  gone  from  me 
when  they  sung  the  death-song,  and  went  afar  to  the 
blessed  valley  of  Manneyto.  They  are  not  gone — 
they  live — they  have  voices  and  can  speak  for  the  Ye- 

Vol.  I.  9 


98  THE    VEMASSEE. 

massee.  Sanutee  may  say,  Ishiagaska  may  say,  the 
prophet  may  say — but  they  say  not  for  Manney  wanto. 
There  are  brave  chiefs  of  the  Yemassee,  yet  we  hear 
only  Sanutee.  Sanutee  !  cha  !  cha  !  I  am  here — I — 
Manney  wanto.  I  speak  for  the  trade  with  our  English 
brother.  The  Yemassee  will  sell  the  land  to  their 
brothers."  He  was  followed  by  another  and  another, 
all  in  the  affirmative. 

"  Metatchee  will  trade  with  the  English.  The  Eng- 
lish is  the  brother  to  Yemassee." 

"  Oorralatchie  will  sell  the  land  to  the  English  broth- 
ers." 

And  so  on  in  succession,  all  but  the  four  first  speak- 
ers, the  assembled  chiefs  proceeded  to  sanction  the 
proposed  treaty,  the  terms  of  which  had  been  submitted 
to  them  before.  To  the  declaration  of  each,  equiva- 
lent as  it  was  to  the  vote  given  in  our  assemblies, 
Sanutee  had  but  a  single  speech. 

"  It  is  well !  It  is  well !"  And  he  listened  to  the 
votes  in  succession  approving  of  the  trade,  until, 
rising  from  a  corner  of  the  apartment  in  which,  lying 
prostrate,  he  had  till  then  been  out  of  the  sight  of  the 
assembly  and  entirely  concealed  from  the  eye  of  San- 
utee, a  tall  young  warrior,  pushing  aside  the  torch- 
bearers,  staggered  forth  into  the  ring.  He  had  evi- 
dently been  much  intoxicated,  though  now  recovering 
from  its  effects  ;  and,  but  for  the  swollen  face  and  the 
watery  eye,  the  uncertain  and  now  undignified  carriage. 
he  might  well  have  been  considered  a  fine  specimen  of 
savage  symmetry  and  manly  beauty.  When  his  voice 
declaring  also  for  the  barter,  struck  upon  the  ear  of  the 
old  chief,  he  started  round  as  if  an  arrow  had  suddenly 
gone  into  his  heart — then  remained  still,  silently  con- 
templating the  speaker,  who,  in  a  stupid  and  incohe- 
rent manner,  proceeded  to  eulogize  the  English  as  the 
true  friends  and  dear  brothers  of  the  Yemassees. 
Granger,  the  trader  and  interpreter,  beholding  the  fin- 
gers of  Sanutee  gripe  the  handle  of  his  tomahawk,  whis- 
pered in  the  ears  of  Sir  Edmund  Bellinger — 

"  Now  would  I  not  be  Occonestoga  for  the  worM 


THE    YEMASSEE.  99 

Sanutee  will  tomahawk  him  before  the  stupid  youth 
can  get  out  of  the  way." 

Before  the  person  addressed  could  reply  to  the  inter- 
preter, his  prediction  was  in  part,  and,  but  for  the  ready 
presence  of  the  Englishman,  would  have  been  wholly, 
verified.  Scarcely  had  the  young  chief  finished  his 
maudlin  speech,  when,  with  a  horrible  grin,  seemingly 
of  laughter,  Sanutee  leaped  forward,  and  with  uplifted 
arm  and  descending  blow,  would  have  driven  the 
hatchet  deep  into  the  scull  of  the  only  half-conscious 
youth,  when  Sir  Edmund  seized  the  arm  of  the  fierce 
old  man  in  time  to  defeat  the  effort. 

"  Wouldst  thou  slay  thy  own  son,  Sanutee  ?" 
"He  is  thy  slave — he  is  not  the  son  of  Sanutee. 
Thou  hast  made  him  a  dog  with  thy  poison  water,  till 
he  would  sell  thee  his  own  mother  to  carry  water  for 
thy  women.  Hold  me  not,  Englishman — I  will  strike 
the  slave — I  will  strike  thee  too,  thou  that  art  his  mas- 
ter ;"  and  with  a  fury  and  strength  which  required  the 
restraining  power  of  half  a  dozen,  he  laboured  to  effect 
his  object.  They  succeeded,  however,  in  keeping 
him  back,  until  the  besotted  youth  had  been  safely  hur- 
ried from  the  apartment ;  when,  silenced  and  stilled  by 
the  strong  reaction  of  his  excitement,  the  old  chief 
sunk  down  again  upon  his  bearskin  seat  in  a  stupor, 
until  the  parchment  conveying  the  terms  of  the  treaty, 
with  pens  and  ink,  provided  by  Granger  for  their  sig- 
natures, was  handed  to  Huspah,  for  his  own  and  the 
marks  of  the  chiefs.  Sanutee  looked  on  with  some 
watchfulness,  but  moved  not  until  one  of  the  attendants 
brought  in  the  skin  of  a  dog  filled  with  earth  and 
tightly  secured  with  thongs,  giving  it  the  appearance  of 
a  sack.  Taking  this  sack  in  his  hands,  Huspah,  who 
had  been  half  asleep  during  the  proceedings,  now  arose, 
and  repeating  the  words  of  general  concurrence  in  the 
sale  of  the  lands,  proceeded  to  the  completion  of  the 
treaty  by  conveying  the  sack  which  held  some  of  the 
soil  to  the  hands  of  the  commissioners.  But  Sanutee 
again  rushed  forward  ;  and  seizing  the  sack  from  the 
proffering  hand  of  Huspah,  he  hurled  it  to  the  ground, 
E  2    . 


100  THE    YEMASSEE. 

trampled  it  under  foot,  and  poured  forth,  as  he  did  so. 
an  appeal  to  the  patriotism  of  the  chiefs   in  a  JtSnS 

utterly  despair  to  render  into  ours.  He  implored 
hem,  holding  as  they  did  the  destinies  of  theTat  on 
m  their  hands,  to  forbear  its  sacrifice.     He  compared 

rv  SK'lt  I'  I"6"  fatherS'  in  Value'  -th XP  pal- 
£y  gifts  for  which  they  were  required  to  give  them  ud 
He .dwelt  upon  the  limited  province,  evef  now  which 
had  been  left  them  for  the  chase  ;  spoke  of  the  daHv 
mcurslons  and  injuries  Qf  the  wiftR        oMhe  dai  y 

bold  forms  of  phrase  and  figure  known  among  all  prf£! 

ul^fe  rH  Wh°m  ,metaph°r  and  P-onificPa  on 
supply  the  deficiency  and  make  up  for  the  poverty  of 

language  he  implored  them  not  to  yield  up  the  bones 

of  their  fathers,  nor  admit  the  stranger  to  contact  wih 

the  sacred  town,  given  them  by  the  Manneyto  Trd 

va  rnhl  tZEffi  t0  WS  """^     But  he  V*e  in 

of  the  adder      Th  "?  7?  imPenetrable  td  those 
oi  the  adder.     They  had   been  bought  and  sold  and 

they  had  no  scruple  to  sell  their  country.     He  was 

supported  by  the  few  who  had  spoken  wit/him  agafns 

the  trade,  but  what  availed  patriotism  against  numbers? 

fecteydrhTcbUnheeded'  ^  beh°ldin^  ?he  -"tract  efl 

lan£  fl  a\fVeUpanimmenSe  b0d?  of  the"  best 
lands  for  a  strange  assortment  of  hatchets,  knives 
blanke  s,  brads,  beads,  and  other  commodities  ohke 
character,  Sanutee,  followed  by  his  three  friends,  rushed 
forth  precipitately,  and  with  a  desperate  purpose  frorn 
th«  traitorous  assembly.  purpose,  irom 


THE    YEMASSEE.  101 


CHAPTER  XL 

"  A.  vengeance  for  the  traitors  ;  vengeance  deep 
As  is  their  treason — curses  loud,  and  long, 
Surpassing  their  own  infamy  and  guilt." 

But  the  "  Well-Beloved"  was  not  disposed  to  yield  up 
the  territory  of  his  forefathers  without  farther  struggle. 
Though  governed  by  chiefs,  the  Yemassees  were  yet 
something  of  a  republic,  and  the  appeal  of  the  old 
patriot  now  lay  with  the  people.  He  was  much  better 
acquainted  with  the  popular  feeling  than  those  who 
had  so  far  sacrificed  it ;  and  though  maddened  with 
indignation,  he  was  yet  sufficiently  cool  to  'determine 
the  most  effectual  course  for  the  attainment  of  his 
object.  Not  suspecting  his  design,  the  remaining 
chiefs  continued  in  council,  in  deliberations  of  one 
sort  or  another,  probably  in  adjusting  the  mode  of 
distributing  their  spoils  ;  while  the  English  commis- 
sioners, having  succeeded  in  their  object,  retired  for 
the  night  to  the  dwelling  of  Granger,  the  Indian  trader — 
a  Scotch  adventurer,  who  had  been  permitted  to  take  up 
his  abode  in  the  village,  and  from  his  quiet,  unobtru- 
sive, and  conciliatory  habits,  had  contrived  to  secure 
much  of  the  respect  and  good  regard  of  the  Yemas- 
sees. Sanutee,  meanwhile,  dividing  his  proposed 
undertaking  with  his  three  companions,  Enoree-Mattee 
the  prophet,  Ishiagaska,  and  Choluculla,  all  of  whom 
were  privy  to  the  meditated  insurrection,  went  from 
lodge  to  lodge  of  the  most  influential  and  forward  of 
the  Yemassees.  Nor  did  he  confine  himself  to  these. 
The  rash,  the  thoughtless,  the  ignorant — all  were 
aroused  by  his  eloquence.  To  each  of  these  he 
detailed  the  recent  proceedings  of  council,  and,  in  his 
own  vehement  manner,  explained  the  evil  consequen- 
ces to  the  people  of  such  a  treaty  ;  taking  care  to 
shape  his  information  to  the  mind  or  mood  of  each 
9* 


102  THE    YEMASSEE. 

particular  individual  to  whom  he  spoke.  To  one,  he 
painted  the  growing  insolence  of  the  whites,  increasing 
with  their  increasing  strength,  almost  too  great, 
already,  for  any  control  or  management  from  them 
To  another,  he  described  the  ancient  glories  of  his 
nation,  rapidly  departing  in  the  subservience  with 
which  their  chiefs  acknowledged  the  influence,  and 
truckled  to  the  desires  of  the  English.  To  a  third, 
he  deplored  the  loss  of  the  noble  forests  of  his  fore- 
fathers, hewn  down  by  the  axe,  to  make  way  for  the 
bald  fields  of  the  settler ;  despoiled  of  game,  and 
leaving  the  means  of  life  utterly  problematical  to  the 
hunter.  In  this  way,  with  a  speech  accommodated  to 
every  feeling  and  understanding,  he  went  over  the 
town.  To  all,  he  dwelt  with  Indian  emphasis  upon 
the  sacrilegious  appropriation  of  the  old  burial-places 
of  the  Yemassee — one  of  which,  a  huge  tumulus  upon 
the  edge  of  the  river,  lay  almost  in  their  sight,  and 
traces  of  which  survive  to  this  day,  in  melancholy  attes- 
tation of  their  past  history.  The  effect  of  these  repre- 
sentations— of  these  appeals — coming  from  one  so 
well  beloved,  and  so  highly  esteemed  for  wisdom  and 
love  of  country,  as  Sanutee,  was  that  of  a  moral 
earthquake  ;  and  his  soul  triumphed  with  hope,  as  he 
beheld  them  rushing  onward  to  the  gathering  crowd, 
and  shouting  furiously,  as  they  bared  the  knife,  and 
shook  the  tomahawk  in  air — "  Sangarrah,  Sangarrah-me, 
Yemassee — Sangarrah,  Sangarrah-me,  Yemassee — " 
the  bloody  war-cry  of  the  nation.  To  overthrow  the 
power  of  the  chiefs,  there  was  but  one  mode  ;  and  the 
impelling  directions  of  Sanutee  and  the  three  coadju- 
tors already  mentioned,  drove  by  concert  the  infuriated 
mob  to  the  house  of  council,  where  the  chiefs  were 
still  in  session. 

"  It  is  Huspah,  that  has  sold  the  Yemassee  to  bo  a 
woman,"  was  the  cry  of  one — "  Sangarrah-me — he 
shall  die." 

"  He  hath  cut  off  the  legs  of  our  children,  so  that 
they  walk  no  longer — he  hath  given  away  our  lands  to 
the  pale-faces — Sangarrah-me — he  shall  die !" 


THE    YEMASSEE.  103 

"They  shall  all  die — have  they  not  planted  corn 
in  the  bosom  of  my  mother  ?" — cried  another,  refer- 
ring, figuratively,  to  the  supposed  use  which  the  Eng- 
lish would  make  of  the  lands  they  had  bought ;  and, 
furiously  aroused,  they  struck  their  hatchets  against 
the  house  of  council,  commanding  the  chiefs  within 
to  come  forth,  and  deliver  themselves  up  to  their  ven- 
geance. But,  warned  of  their  danger,  the  beleaguered 
rulers  had  carefully  secured  the  entrance  ;  and  trust- 
ing that  the  popular  ebullition  would  soon  be  quieted, 
they  fondly  hoped  to  maintain  their  position  until  such 
period.  But  the  obstacle  thus  offered  to  the  progress 
of  the  mob,  only  served  the  more  greatly  to  inflame  it ; 
and  a  hundred  hands  were  busy  in  procuring  piles  of 
fuel,  with  which  to  fire  the  building.  The  torches 
were  soon  brought,  the  blaze  kindled  at  different 
points,  and  but  little  was  now  wanting  to  the  confla- 
gration which  must  have  consumed  all  within  or 
driven  them  forth  upon  the  weapons  of  the  besiegers  ; 
when,  all  of  a  sudden,  Sanutee  made  his  appearance, 
and  with  a  single  word  arrested  the  movement. 

"  Manneyto,  Manneyto — "  exclaimed  the  old  chief, 
with  the  utmost  powers  of  his  voice,  and  the  solemn 
adjuration  reached  to  the  remotest  incendiary  and 
arrested  the  application  of  the  torch.  Every  eye  was 
turned  upon  him,  curious  to  ascertain  the  occasion  of  an 
exclamation  so  much  at  variance  with  the  purpose  of 
their  gathering,  and  so  utterly  unlooked-for  from  lips 
which  had  principally  instigated  it.  But  the  glance 
of  Sanutee  indicated  a  mind  unconscious  of  the  effect 
which  it  had  produced.  His  eye  was  fixed  upon 
another  object,  which  seemed  to  exercise  a  fascinating 
influence  upon  him.  His  hands  were  outstretched,  his 
lips  parted,  as  it  were,  in  amazement  and  awe,  and  his 
whole  attitude  was  that  of  devotion.  The  eyes  of 
the  assembly  followed  the  direction  of  his,  and  every 
bosom  thrilled  with  the  wildest  throes  of  natural  super- 
stition, as  they  beheld  Enoree-Mattee  the  prophet, 
writhing  upon  the  ground  at  a  little  distance  in  the 
most  horrible  convulsions.     The  glare  of  the  torches 


104  THE    TEMASSEE. 

around  him  showed  the  angry  distortions  of  every 
feature.  His  eyes  were  protruded,  as  if  bursting  from 
their  sockets — his  tongue  hung  from  his  widely  dis- 
tended jaws,  covered  with  foam — while  his  hands  and 
legs  seemed  doubled  up,  like  a  knotted  band  of  snakes, 
huddling  in  uncouth  sports  in  midsummer. 

"  Opitchi-Manneyto — Opitchi-Manneyto — here  are 
arrows — we  burn  arrows  to  thee  ;  we  burn  red  feath- 
ers to  thee,  Opitchi-Manneyto" — was  the  universal 
cry  of  deprecatory  prayer  and  promise,  which  the 
assembled  mass  sent  up  to  their  evil  deity,  whose  pres- 
ence and  power  they  supposed  themselves  to  behold, 
in  the  agonized  workings  of  their  prophet.  A  yell  of 
savage  terror  then  burst  from  the  lips  of  the  inspired 
priest,  and  rising  from  the  ground,  as  one  relieved,  but 
pregnant  with  a  sacred  fury,  he  waved  his  hand  towards 
the  council-house,  and  rushed  headlong  into  the  crowd, 
with  a  sort  of  anthem,  which,  as  it  was  immediately 
chorused  by  the  mass,  must  have  been  usual  to  such 
occasions. 

"  The  arrows — 

The  feathers — 

The  dried  scalps,  and  the  teeth, 

The  teeth  from  slaughtered  enemies — 

Where  are  they — where  are  they  ? 
We  burn  them  for  thee, — black  spirit — 
We  burn  them  for  thee,  Opitchi-Manneyto — 

Leave  us,  leave  us,  black  spirit." 

The  crowd  sung  forth  this  imploring  deprecation  of 
the  demon's  wrath  ;  and  then,  as  if  something  more 
relieved,  Enoree-Mattee  uttered  of  himself — 

"  I  hear  thee,  Opitchi-Manneyto — 
Thy  words  are  in  my  ears, 
They  are  words  for  the  Yemassee ; 
And  the  prophet,  shall  speak  them — 
Leave  us,  leave  us,  black  spirit." 

"  Leave  us,  leave  us,  black  spirit.  Go  to  thy  red 
home,  Opitchi-Manneyto — let  us  hear  the  words  of 
the  prophet — we  give  ear  to  Enoree-Mattee." 

Thus  called  upon,  the  prophet  advanced  to  the  side 
of  Sanutee,  who  had  all  this  while  preserved  an  atti- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  105 

t«de  of  the  profoundest  devotion.  He  came  forward, 
with  all  the  look  of  inspiration,  and  his  words  were 
poured  forth  in  an  uncouth  rhythm,  which  was  doubtless 
the  highest  pitch  of  lyric  poetry  among  them. 

"  Let  the  Yemassee  have  ears, 
For  Opitchi-Manneyto — 
'Tis  Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Not  the  prophet,  now  that  speaks. 
Hear  Opitchi-Manneyto. 

"  In  my  agony,  he  came, 
And  he  hurl'd  me  to  the  ground  ; 
Dragged  me  through  the  twisted  hush, 
Put  his  hand  upon  my  throat, 
Breathed  his  fire  into  my  mouth — 
That  Opitchi-Manneyto. 

"  And  he  said  to  me  in  wrath, — 
Listen,  what  he  said  to  me  ; 
Hear  the  prophet,  Yemassees — 
For  he  spoke  to  me  in  wrath  ; 
He  was  angry  with  my  sons, 
For  he  saw  them  bent  to  slay, 
Bent  to  strike  the  council-chiefs, 
And  he  would  not  have  them  slain, 
That  Opitchi-Manneyto." 

As  the  prophet  finished  the  line  that  seemed  to 
deny  them  the  revenge  which  they  had  promised  them- 
selves upon  their  chiefs,  the  assembled  multitude  mur- 
mured audibly,  and  Sanutee,  than  whom  no  better 
politician  lived  in  the  nation,  knowing  well  that  the 
show  of  concession  is  the  best  mode  of  execution 
among  the  million,  came  forward,  and  seemed  to  ad- 
dress the  prophet,  while  his  speech  was  evidently 
meant  for  them. 

"  Wherefore,  Enoree-Mattee,  should  Opitchi-Man- 
neyto save  the  false  chiefs  who  have  robbed  their  peo- 
ple !  Shall  we  not  have  their  blood — shall  we  not 
hang  their  scalps  in  the  tree — shall  we  not  bury  their 
heads  in  the  mud  ?  Wherefore  this  strange  word  from 
Opitchi-Manneyto — wherefore  would  he  save  the  trai- 
tors V 

"  It  is  the  well-beloved — it  is  the  well-beloved  of 
Manneyto — speak,  prophet,  to  Sanutee,"  was  the  gen- 
eral cry ;  and  the  howl,  which  at  that  moment  had  been 
E  3 


106  THE    YEMASSEE. 

universal*  was  succeeded  by  the  hush  and  awful  still- 
ness of  4?he  grave.  The  prophet  was  not  slow  to  answer 
for  ihfc«l|emon,  in  the  style  of  his  previous  haranpue. 

« 

»"  'Tis  Opitchi-Manneyto, 

Not  the  prophet  now  that  speaks, 
Give  him  ear  then,  Yemassee, 
Hear  Opitchi-Manneyto. 

"  Says  Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Wherefore  are  my  slaves  so  few — 
Not  for  me  the  gallant  chief, 
Slaughtered  by  the  Yemassee — 
Blest,  the  slaughtered  chief  must  go, 
To  the  happy  home  that  lies 
In  the  bosom  of  the  hills, 
Where  the  game  is  never  less, 
Though  the  hunter  always  slays — 
Where  the  plum-groves  always  bloom, 
And  the  hunter  never  sleeps. 

"  Says  Opitchi-Manneyto — 
Wherefore  are  my  slaves  so  few? 
Shall  the  Yemassee  give  death — 
Says  Opitchi-Manneyto — 
To  the  traitor,  to  the  slave, 
Who  would  sell  the  Yemassee — 
Who  would  sell  his  father's  bones, 
And-  behold  the  green  corn  grow 
From  his  wife's  and  mother's  breast. 

"  Death  is  for  the  gallant  chief, 
Says  Opitchi-Manneyto. — 
Life  is  for  the  traitor  slave, 
But  a  life  that  none  may  know — 
With  a  shame  that  all  may  see. 

"  Thus,  Opitchi-Manneyto, 
To  his  sons,  the  Yemassee — 
Take  the  traitor  chiefs,  says  he, 
Make  them  slaves,  to  wait  on  me. 
Bid  Malatchie  take  the  chiefs, 
He,  the  executioner — 
Take  the  chiefs  and  bind  them  down, 
Cut  the  totem  from  each  arm, 
So  that  none  may  know  the  slaves, 
Not  their  fathers,  not  their  mothers — 
Children,  wives,  that  none  may  know- 
Not  the  tribes  that  look  upon, 
Not  the  young  men  of  their  own, 
Not  the  people,  not  the  chiefs — 
Not  the  good  Manneyto  know. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  ?07 

"  Thus  Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Make  these  traitors  slaves  for  me  : 
Then  the  blessed  valley  lost, 
And  the  friends  and  chiefs  they  knew, 
None  shall  know  them,  all  shall  flee* 
Make  them  slaves  to  wait  on  me — 
Hear  Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Thus,  his  prophet  speaks  for  him, 
To  the  mighty  Yemassee." 

The  will  of  the  evil  deity  thus  conveyed  to  the  In- 
dians by  the  prophet,  carried  with  it  a  refinement  in 
the  art  of  punishment  to  which  civilization  has  not  of- 
ten attained.  According  to  the  pneumatology  of  the 
Yemassees,  the  depriving  the  criminal  of  life  did  not 
confer  degradation  or  shame  ;  for  his  burial  ceremo- 
nies were  precisely  such  as  were  allotted  to  those  dy- 
ing in  the  very  sanctity  and  fullest  odour  of  favourable 
public  opinion.  But  this  was  not  the  case  when  the 
totem  or  badge  of  his  tribe  had  been  removed  from 
that  portion  of  his  person  where  it  had  been  the  cus- 
tom of  the  people  to  tatoo  it  ;  for  without  this  totem, 
no  other  nation  could  recognise  them,  their  own  reso- 
lutely refused  to  do  it,  and,  at  their  death,  the  great 
Manneyto  would  reject  them  from  the  plum-groves 
and  the  happy  valley,  when  the  fierce  Opitchi-Man- 
neyto, the  evil  demon,  whom  they  invoked  with  as 
much,  if  not  more  earnestness  than  the  good,  was  al- 
ways secure  of  his  prey.  A  solemn  awe  succeeded 
for  a  moment  this  awful  annunciation  among  the  crowd ; 
duly  exaggerated  by  the  long  and  painful  howl  of  ago- 
ny with  which  the  doomed  traitors  within  the  council-), 
house,  who  had  been  listening,  were  made  conscious 
of  its  complete  purport.  Then  came  a  shout  of  tri- 
umphant revenge  from  those  without,  who  now,  with 
minds  duly  directed  to  the  new  design,  were  as  reso- 
lute to  preserve  the  lives  of  the  chiefs  as  they  had  be- 
fore been  anxious  to  destroy  them.  Encircling  the  coun~ 
cil-house  closely  in  order  to  prevent  their  escape,  they 
determined  patiently  to  adopt  such  measures  as  should 
best  secure  them  as  prisoners.  The  policy  of  Sanu- 
tee,  for  it  will  scarcely  need  that  we  point  to  him  as 
the  true  deviser  of  the  present  scheme,  was  an  admi 


108  THE    YEMASSEE. 

rable  one  in  considering  the  Indian  character. — To 
overthrow  the  chiefs  properly,  and  at  the  same  time  to 
discourage  communication  with  the  English,  it  was 
better  to  degrade  than  to  destroy  them.  The  popu- 
lace may  sympathize  with  the  victim  whose  blood  they 
have  shed,  for  death  in  all  countries  goes  far  to  cancel 
the  memory  of  offence  ;  but  they  seldom  restore  to 
their  estimation  the  individual  they  have  themselves 
degraded.  The  mob,  in  this  respect,  seems  to  be  duly 
conscious  of  the  hangman  filthiness  of  its  own  fingers. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"  This  makes  of  thee  a  master,  me  a  slave, 
And  I  destroy  it ;  we  are  equal  now." 

A  not  less  exciting  scene  was  now  going  on  within 
the  council-chamber.  There,  all  was !  confusion  and 
despair.  The  shock  of  such  a  doom  as  that  which  the 
chiefs  had  heard  pronounced  by  the  people,  under  the 
influence  of  the  prophet,  came  upon  them  like  a  bolt 
of  thunder.  For  a  moment  it  paralyzed  with  its  terrors 
the  hearts  of  those  who  had  no  fear  of  death.  The 
mere  loss  of  life  is  always  an  event  of  triumph  with  the 
brave  of  the  Indians,  for  the  due  ennobling  of  which, 
his  song  of  past  victories  and  achievements,  carefully 
chronicled  by  a  memory  which  has  scarcely  any  other 
employment,  is  shouted  forth  in  the  most  acute  physi- 
cal agony,  with  a  spirit  that  nothing  can  bend  or 
conquer.  But  to  deprive  him  of  this  memory — to 
eradicate  all  the  marks  of  his  achievements— to  take 
from  him  the  only  credential  by  which  he  operates 
among  his  fellows  and  claims  a  place  in  the  ranks  of 
the  illustrious  dead — was  a  refinement  upon  the  ter- 
rors of  punishment,  which,  unfrequently  practised, 
was  held  as  a  terror,  intended  to  paralyze,  as  in  the 
present  instance,  every  thing  of  morai  courage  which 


THE    YEMASSEE.  109 

the  victim  might  possess.  For  a  moment  such  was 
its  effect  in  the  assembly  of  the  chiefs.  The  solitary 
howl  of  despair  which  their  unanimous  voices  sent  up 
as  the  first  intimation  of  the  decree  met  their  ears, 
was  succeeded  by  the  deepest  silence,  while  they 
threw  themselves  upon  their  faces,  and  the  torch- 
bearers,  burying  their  torches  in  the  clay  floor  of  the 
building,  with  something  of  that  hate  and  horror  which 
seemed  to  distinguish  the  body  of  the  Indians  without,, 
rushed  forth  from  the  apartment  and  joined  with  the 
assembled  people.  Their  departure  aroused  the  de- 
spairing inmates,  and  while  one  of  them  carefully 
again  closed  the  entrance  before  the  watchful  mass 
without  could  avail  themselves  of  the  opening,  the  rest 
prepared  themselves  with  a  renewed  courage  to  de- 
liberate upon  their  situation. 

"  There  is  death  for  Manneywanto,"  exclaimed  that 
fierce  warrior  and  chief — "  he  will  not  lose  the  arrow 
of  his  tribe.  I  will  go  forth  to  the  hatchet.  I  will 
lift  my  arm,  and  strike  so  that  they  shall  slay." 

"  Let  them  put  the  knife  to  the  heart  of  Oonalatchie," 
cried  another — "  but  not  to  the  arrow  upon  his 
shoulder.     He  will  go  forth  with  Manneywanto." 

The  determination  of  the  whole  was  soon  made. 
Huspah,  the  superior  but  superannuated  chief,  totter- 
ing in  advance,  and  singing  mournfully  the  song  of 
death  with  which  the  Indian  always  prepares  for  its  ap- 
proach, the  song  became  general  with  the  victims,  and 
with  drawn  knives  and  ready  hatchets,  they  threw  wide 
the  entrance,  and  rushing  forth  with  a  fury  duly  height- 
ened by  the  utter  hopelessness  of  escape,  they  struck 
desperately  on  all  sides  among  the  hundreds  by  whom 
they  were  beleaguered.  But  they  had  been  waited  and 
prepared  for,  and  forbearing  to  strike  in  return,  and 
freely  risking  their  own  lives,  the  Indians  were  content 
to  bear  them  down  by  the  force  of  numbers.  The 
more  feeble  among  them  fell  under  the  pressure.  Of 
these  was  Huspah  the  king,  whom  the  crowd  im- 
mediately dragged  from  the  press,  and  in  spite  of  the 
exertions  of  Sanutee,  who  desired  the  observance  of. 
I.  10 


110  THE    YEMASSEE. 

some  formalities  which  marked  the  ceremony,  they 
fiercely  cut  away  the  flesh  of  the  arm  bearing  the 
insignia,  while  his  shrieks  of  despair  and  defiance, 
reaching  the  ears  of  his  comrades,  still  struggling, 
heightened  their  desperation  and  made  their  arrest 
the  more  difficult.  But  the  strife  was  in  a  little  time 
over.  The  crowd  triumphed,  and  the  chiefs,  still  living 
and  unhurt,  saving  only  a  few  bruises  which  were  un- 
avoidable in  the  affray,  were  all  secured  but  Manney- 
wanto.  That  powerful  and  ferocious  chief  manfully 
battled  with  a  skill  and  strength  that  knew  no  abate- 
ment from  its  exercise,  and  seemed  only  heightened  by 
the  opposition.  A  friendly  hand,  at  length,  whose 
stroke  he  blessed,  encountered  him  in  the  crowd  and 
severed  his  scull  with  a  hatchet.  He  was  the  only 
individual  of  the  traitors  by  whom  the  vengeance  of  the 
Indians  was  defrauded ;  not  another  of  the  clan  proved 
fortunate  in  his  desperation.  The  survivers  were  all 
securely  taken,  and,  carefully  bound  with  thongs,  were 
borne  away  to  the  great  tumulus,  upon  which  the 
doom  was  to  be  put  in  execution.  In  an  hour  after 
they  were  expatriated  men,  flying  desperately  to 
the  forests,  homeless,  nationless,  outcasts  from  God  and 
man,  yet  destined  to  live.  It  is  remarkable  that  in  all 
this  time,  suicide  never  entered  the  thoughts  of  the 
victims.  It  forms  no  part  of  the  Indian's  philosophy, 
and  the  Roman  might  have  won  a  lesson  from  the 
Yemassee,  in  this  respect,  which  would  have  ennobled 
his  Catos. 

Meanwhile  the  deputation  of  the  Carolinians  lay  at 
the  house  of  Granger,  full  of  apprehensions  for  their 
common  safety.  Nor  was  Granger  himself  less  so.  He 
felt  assured  of  the  danger,  and  only  relied  upon  the 
interposition  of  Sanutee,  which  he  knew  to  be  all- 
powerful,  and  which,  looking  on  the  outbreak  of  the 
•people  as  the  result  of  their  own  impulse,  he  saw  no 
reason  to  imagine  would  be  denied  on  the  present 
occasion.  From  their  place  of  retreat,  which  lay  on 
the  skirts  of  the  town  and  nigh  the  river,  the  embassy 
could  hear  the  outcries  and  clamours  of  the  Indians 


TII£    YS.MASSEE.  Ill 

without  being  acquainted  with  particulars  ;  and  when 
at  length  they  beheld  the  flames  ascending  from  the 
house  of  council,  which,  when  they  had  seized  upon 
the  chiefs,  the  rioters  had  fired,  believing  the  chiefs 
consumed  in  the  conflagration,  they  gave  themselves 
up  for  lost.  They  did  not  doubt  that  the  fury  which 
had  sacrificed  so  many  and  such  influential  persons 
would  scarcely  be  satisfied  to  allow  of  their  escape ; 
and  firmly  impressed  with  the  conviction  that  their 
trial  was  at  hand,  Sir  Edmund  Bellinger  drew  his 
sword,  and,  followed  by  the  rest  of  the  deputation,  pre- 
pared for  a  conflict  in  which  they  had  but  one  hope, 
and  that  lay  in  selling  the  life  dearly,  which  seemed 
so  certainly  forfeited. 

In  this  mood  of  mind  they  waited  the  coming  of  the 
storm,  nor  were  they  long  kept  in  suspense.  Having 
beheld  the  fearful  doom  carried  into  effect,  and  seen 
their  ancient  rulers  scourged  out  of  the  town,  the 
revolutionists  rushed  headlong,  and  with  an  appetite 
for  blood  duly  heightened  by  the  little  they  had  seen, 
to  the  dwelling  of  the  trader — vowing  as  they  hurried 
along,  to  their  infernal  deity,  Opitchi-Manneyto,  an  in- 
crease of  slaves  in  the  persons  of  the  Englishmen, 
whom  they  proposed  to  sacrifice  by  fire.  On  their 
way,  mistaking  one  of  their  own  people  who  had 
dressed  himself  somewhat  after  the  fashion  of  the 
English,  in  a  dress  which  had  been  discarded  by  some 
white  man,  they  dashed  him  to  the  earth,  trampled  and 
nearly  tore  him  into  pieces  before  discovering  the 
mistake.  In  such  a  temper,  they  appeared  before  the 
dwelling  of  the  trader,  and  with  loud  shouts  demanded 
their  prey. 

Determined  upon  stout  resistance  to  the  last,  the 
commissioners  had  barricadoed  the  little  dwelling  as 
well  as  they  could ;  and  doubtless,  for  a  small  space  of 
time,  would  have  made  it  tenable  ;  but  fortunately  for 
them,  just  as  the  furious  savages  were  about  to  apply 
the  fatal  torch  to  the  building,  the  appearance  of  Eno- 
ree-Mattee  and  Sanutee,  spared  them  an  issue  which 
could  have  only  terminated  in  their  murder.     Sanutee 


112  THE    YEMASSEE. 

had  his  game  to  play,  and  though  perfectly  indifferent 
as  to  the  fate  of  the  commissioners,  yet,  as  his  hope  in 
the  forthcoming  insurrection  lay  in  taking  the  Caroli- 
nians by  surprise,  it  was  his  policy  to  impress  confi- 
dence rather  than  distrust  upon  them.  He  aimed  now 
to  divest  the  embassy  of  all  suspicion,  and  to  confine 
the  show  of  indignation  made  by  the  Yemassees,  en- 
tirely to  the  chiefs  who  liad  so  abused  their  power. 

Addressing  the  mob,  he  controlled  it  in  his  own  man- 
ner, and  telling  them  that  they  wanted  nothing  from  the 
English  but  the  treaty  which  had  so  fraudulently  been 
entered  into  by  their  chiefs,  he  engaged  to  them  to  ef 
feet  its  restoration,  along  with  the  skin  of  earth,  which, 
completing  the  bargain,  was  equivalent  in  their  esti- 
mation, not  less  to  legal  right  than  to  actual  possession. 
After  some  demur,  Granger  admitted  the  chief,  who  came 
alone  to  the  presence  of  the  deputation,  the  chairman 
of  which  thus  sternly  addressed  him  ; — 

"  Are  the  English  dogs,"  said  Sir  Edmund  Bellinger, 
"  that  thy  people  hunt  them  with  cries  and  fire  1 
Wherefore  is  this,  Sanutee  ?" 

"The  English  have  the  lands  of  my  people,  and 
therefore  my  people  hunt  them.  The  bad  chiefs  who 
sold  the  land  as  chiefs  of  the  Yemassee,  are  chiefs 
no  longer." 

"  Thou  hast  slain  them?"  inquired  Sir  Edmund. 

"  No,  but  they  are  dead — dead  to  Sanutee — dead  to 
the  Yemassee — dead  to  Manneyto.  They  are  dogs — 
the  English  have  slaves  in  the  woods." 

"  But  their  acts  are  good  with  us,  and  the  English 
will  proteot  them,  Sanutee,  and  will  punish  their  ene- 
mies. Beware,  chief — I  tell  thee  there  is  danger  for 
thy  people." 

"  It  is  good.  Does  the  white  chief  hear  my  people  ? 
They  cry  for  blood.  They  would  drink  it  from  thy 
heart,  but  Sanutee  is  the  friend  of  the  English.  They 
shall  touch  thee  not,  to  harm." 

"  Thou  hast  said  well,  Sanutee,  and  I  expected  no 
less  from  thee  ;  but  why  do  they  not  go  ?  Why  do  they 
still  surround  our  dwelling?" 


THE    YEMASSEE.  113 

"  They  wait  for  the  wampum — they  would  tear  the 
skin  which  carries  the  land  of  the  Yemassee  ;"  and  the 
chief,  as  he  spoke,  pointed  to  the  treaty  and  the  sack 
of  earth  which  lay  by  the  side  of  Bellinger.  He  pro- 
ceeded to  tell  them  that  they  should  be  secure  when 
these  were  re-delivered  to  the  Indians.  But  with  tha 
commissioners  it  was  a  point  of  honour  not  to  restore 
the  treaty  which  they  had  obtained  from  the  rulers  de 
facto  of  the  people — certainly,  not  to  a  lawless  mob  ; 
and  regarding  only  the  high  trust  of  which  he  had 
charge,  the  speech  of  the  chief  commissioner  was  in- 
stantaneous :  — 

"  Never,  Sanutee,  never — only  with  my  blood.  Go 
— you  have  my  answer.  We  shall  fight  to  the  last, 
and  our  blood  be  upon  the  heads  of  your  people.  They 
will  pay  dearly  for  every  drop  of  it  they  spill." 

"  It  is  well — "  said  Sanutee,  "  It  is  well :  Sanutee 
will  go  back  to  his  people,  and  the  knife  of  the  Yemas- 
see will  dig  for  his  land  in  the  heart  of  the  English." 
He  left  the  house,  and  with  gloomy  resignation,  Bel- 
linger, with  the  other  commissioners  and  Granger,  pre- 
pared for  the  coming  storm  with  all  their  philosophy. 
In  a  few  moments  the  anticipated  commotion  began. 
The  populace,  but  a  little  before  silent  and  patient,  now 
chafed  and  roared  like  a  stormy  ocean,  and  the  fierce 
cry  of  Sangarrah-me,  the  cry  for  blood,  went  up  from  a 
thousand  voices.  The  torches  were  brought  forward, 
and  the  deputies,  firm  and  fearless  enough,  saw  no  hope 
even  of  a  chance  for  the  use  of  their  weapons.  The 
two  subordinates,  with  Granger,  looked  imploringly  to 
Bellinger,  but  the  stern  chief  paced  the  apartment  un- 
bendingly, though  seemingly  well  aware  of  all  the 
dangers  of  their  situation.  At  that  moment  the  wife  of 
Granger — a  tall,  fine  looking  woman,  of  much  mascu- 
ine  beauty,  appeared  from  an  inner  apartment,  and 
*efore  she  had  been  observed  by  either  of  the  com- 
nissioners,  seizing  upon  the  little  skin  of  earth  and  the 
parchment  at  the  same  moment,  without  a  word,  she 
threw  open  the  door,  and  cried  out  to  Sanutee  to  receive 
mem.  This  was  all  done  in  an  instant,  and  before  the 
10* 


114  THE    YEMASSEE. 

stern  commissioner  could  see  or  interfere,  the  deposites, 
placed  in  the  grasp  of  the  savages,  were  torn  into  a 
thousand  pieces. 

"  Woman,  how  darest  thou  do  this  !" — was  the  first 
sentence  of  Bellinger  to  the  person  who  had  thus  yielded 
up  his  trust.     But  she  fearlessly  confronted  him — 

"  My  life  is  precious  to  me,  my  lord,  though  you 
may  be  regardless  of  yours.  The  treaty  is  nothing 
now  to  the  Yemassees,  who  have  destroyed  their  chiefs 
on  account  of  it.  To  have  kept  it  would  have  done 
no  good,  but  must  have  been  destructive  to  us  all.  San- 
utee  will  keep  his  word,  and  our  lives  are  now  saved." 

It  was  evident  that  she  was  right,  and  Bellinger  was 
wise  enough  to  see  it.  He  said  nothing  farther,  glad, 
perhaps,  that  the  responsibility  of  the  trust  had  been 
thus  removed  from  him — and,  true  to  his  word,  Sami- 
tee  now  reappeared  among  them.  The  crowd  was 
pacified  by  his  exhortations  rather  than  by  the  con- 
cession, and  the  storm  was  rapidly  subsiding.  A 
little  delay  followed,  in  which  the  commissioners  were 
busy  in  making  preparations  for  their  departure,  and 
waiting,  under  Sanutee's  suggestion,  the  disappearance 
of  the  people,  which  he  assured  them  would  take  place 
soon.  The  clamour  having  subsided,  they  prepared 
to  go  forth  under  the  protection  and  presence  of  the 
old  chief,  which  the  proud  Sir  Edmund  Bellinger  in- 
dignantly, but  in  vain,  refused.  Seeing  that  Granger 
and  his  wife  remained,  Sanutee  turned  suddenly  upon 
him,  and  in  a  low  tone,  unheard  by  the  commissioners, 
asked  why  he  did  not  prepare  to  go  also.  He  an- 
swered by  avowing  his'Villingness  still  to  remain  in 
Pocota-ligo  as  before,  for  the  purposes  of  trade. 

"  Go — Sanutee  is  good  friend  to  Granger,  and  to  his 
woman.  Go  all — there  is  fire  and  a  knife  in  the  hand 
of  the  Yemassees,  and  they  will  drink  a  deep  draught 
from  the  heart  of  the  pale-faces.  If  Granger  will  not 
go  from  Yemassee,  look,  the  hatchet  of  Sanutee  is 
ready  ;"  and  he  raised  it  as  he  spoke — "  Sanutee  will 
save  Granger  from  the  fire-death." 

This  is  the  last  service  which  the  Indian  warrior 


THE    YEMASSEE.  115 

may  do  his  friend,  and  Granger  understood  the  extent 
of  his  danger  from  this  proffer,  meant  as  a  kindness 
on  the  part  of  the  old  chief.  He  needed  no  second 
exhortation  to  a  remove,  and  though  the  hope  of  gain 
and  a  prosperous  trade  had  encouraged  him  hitherto 
to  risk  every  thing  in  his  present  residence,  the  love 
of  life  proved  stronger ;  for  he  well  knew  that  Sanu- 
tee  seldom  spoke  without  reason.  Packing  up,  there- 
fore, with,  the  aid  of  his  wife,  the  little  remaining  stock 
in  trade  which  he  possessed,  and  which  a  couple  of 
good-sized  bundles  readily  comprised,  they  took  their 
way  along  with  the  commissioners,  and,  guided  by 
Sanutee,  soon  reached  the  river.  Choosing  for  them 
a  double  canoe,  the  old  chief  saw  them  safely  em- 
barked. Taking  the  paddles  into  their  own  hands,  the 
midnight  wayfarers  descended  the  stream  on  their  way 
towards  the  Block  House,  while,  surrounded  by  a  small 
group  of  his  people,  Sanutee  watched  their  slow  prog- 
ress from  the  banks. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"  And  merrily,  through  the  long  summer  day, 
The  southern  boatman  winds  his  pliant  horn, 
As  sweeping  with  the  long  pole  down  his  streams, 
•    He  cheers  the  lazy  hours,  and  speeds  them  on." 

The  fugitives  reached  the  Block  House  in  safety, 
and  found  the  few  hours  of  repose  which  they  could 
snatch  between  the  time  of  their  midnight  escape  and 
daylight,  highly  grateful  from  the  fatigues  which  they 
had  undergone.  The  upper  apartments  were  appro- 
priately divided  between  the  commissioners  and 
Granger,  who,  with  his  wife,  instead  of  seeking  sleep 
on  their  arrival,  proceeded  with  all  the  usage  of  the 
trader,  to  attend,  first,  to  the  proper  safety  and  arrange- 
ment of  his  stock  in  trade  ;  which,  consisting  of  a 
few  unsold  goods,  of  a  description  adapted  to  the  wants 


116  THE    YEMASSEE. 

of  that  region,  and  some  small  bundles  of  furs,  intrin- 
sically of  little  value,  were  yet  to  the  selfish  trades- 
man of  paramount  importance. 

It  was  early  sunrise  on  the  morning  following  the 
wild  events  narrated  in  our  last  chapter,  when  Gabriel 
Harrison,  of  whom  we  have  seen  little  for  some  time 
past,  appeared  on  the  edge  of  the  little  brow  of  hill, 
known  as  the  Chief's  Bluff,  which  immediately  over- 
looked the  Pocota-ligo  river.  In  the  distance,  some  ten 
or  twelve  miles,  unseen,  lay  the  Indian  village  or  town 
of  the  same  name.  Immediately  before  him,  say  one 
or  two  miles  above,  in  the  broadest  part  of  the  stream, 
rested  motionless  as  the  hill  upon  which  he  stood,  the 
sharp  clipper-built  vessel,  which  has  already  called 
for  some  of  our  attention,  and  which  at  this  moment 
seemed  to  attract  no  small  portion  of  his.  Sheltered 
by  the  branches  of  a  single  tree,  which  arose  from 
the  centre  of  the  bluff,  Harrison  continued  the  scru- 
tiny, with  here  and  there  a  soliloquizing  remark,  until 
interrupted  by  the  presence  of  the  commissioners, 
who,  with  Granger,  now  came  towards  him  from  the 
Block  House. 

"  Ha,  Sir  Edmund — gentlemen — how  fares  it,  and 
when  came  you  from  Pocota-ligo  V  was  the  saluta- 
tion of  Harrison  to  the  deputation. 

"  At  midnight,  my  lord — at  midnight,  and  in  a  hurry  ; 
we  had  the  nation  upon  us.  There  has  been  a  com- 
motion, and  by  this  time,  I  doubt  not,  the  Yemassees 
have  cut  the  throats  of  all  the  chiefs  friendly  to  our 
proposed  treaty." 

"  Indeed,  but  this  is  worse  and  worse.  I  feared 
something,  and  warned  the  assembly  against  this 
movement.  But  their  cursed  desire  to  possess  the  lands 
must  precipitate  all  the  dangers  I  have  been  looking 
for.  I  told  them  that  the  Yemassees  were  discon- 
tented, and  that  the  utmost  care  must  be  taken  not  to 
goad  them  too  greatly.  I  saw  this  in  the  sullenness  of 
old  Sanutee  himself,  and  they  have  given  wings  to  the 
mischief  by  their  imprudence.  But  how  was  it.  Sit 
Edmund  ?"  let  us  have  particulars 


THE    YEMASSEE.  117 

The  circumstances,  as  already  narrated,  were  soon 
told,  and  the  countenance  of  Harrison  bespoke  the 
full  thoughts  in  his  bosom.  Turning  to  Granger,  at 
length  he  addressed  the  trader  inquiringly  : 

"Can  you  say  nothing  more  than  this — what  have 
you  learned  touching  Ishiagaska  ?  Was  it  as  I  feared  ? 
Had  he  been  to  St.  Augustine  V 

"  He  had,  my  lord, — " 

"  Harrison — Harrison — Captain  Harrison,"  impa- 
tiently exclaimed  the  person  addressed — "  forget  not 
that  here  I  have  no  other  title.     Go  on." 

"  Ishiagaska,  sir,  and  old  Choluculla,  both  of  them 
have  been  to  St.  Augustine,  and  but  a  week  ago  returned, 
loaded  with  presents." 

"  Ay,  ay,  the  storm  gathers,  and  we  must  look  to  it, 
gentlemen  commissioners.  This  matter  hurries  it  on- 
ward. They  were  making  their  preparations  fast 
enough  before,  and  they  will  now  see  no  reason  in  this 
to  pause.     Yet  you  say  that  Sanutee  saved  you." 

"  He  did,  and  seemed  friendly  enough." 

"  Said  he  aught  of  disapproval  to  their  proceedings  ? 
— made  he  any  professions  of  regard  to  the  English  ?" 

"  He  said  little,  but  that  was  friendly,  and  his  inter- 
position for  our  safety — " 

"  Was  his  policy.  He  is  a  cunning  savage,  but  1 
see  through  him.  He  does  not  wish  to  alarm  us,  for 
they  can  only  conquer  by  disarming  our  caution  ;  and 
this  is  my  greatest  fear.  Our  people  are  so  venturous 
that  they  refuse  to  believe  any  evidence  short  of  actual 
demonstration,  and  every  day  finds  them  thrusting  their 
heads  and  shoidders  farther  and  farther  into  the  mouth 
of  the  enemy,  and  without  the  chance  of  support  from 
their  friends.  They  will  grow  wise  at  a  fearful  price, 
or  I  am  greatly  deceived." 

"  But  what  do  you  propose,  my  lord,  if  you  look  for 
an  insurrection  near  at  hand  V  asked  Sir  Edmund 
Bellinger. 

"  I  might  answer  you  readily  enough,  Sir  Edmund, 
by  asking  you  wherefore  I  am  here.  But  please 
style  me  Harrison,  and  if  that  be  too  abrupt  in  its 


118  THE    YEMASSEE. 

expression,  Master  or  Captain  Gabriel  Harrison.  It 
is  something  of  ray. game  to  see  for  myself  the  diffi- 
culties and  the  dangers  at  hand,  and  for  this  reason  1 
now  play  the  spy.  Here,  I  am  perfectly  unknown, 
save  to  one  or  two  ; — except  as  the  captain  of  a  little 
troop,  whose  confidence  I  secured  in  the  affair  with 
your  Coosaws  and  Ashepoos,  and  which  I  imbodied  on 
that  occasion.  Still  they  only  know  me  as  Captain 
Harrison,  and  somehow  or  other,  they  are  well  enough 
content  with  me  in  that  character." 

"  And  think  you  this  insurrection  nigh  at  hand?" 

"  Nay,  Sir  Edmund,  that  is  the  question,  and  it  is 
exceedingly  important  to  know.  Our  borderers  are 
not  willing  to  come  out,  unless  for  serious  cause,  and 
to  call  them  out  prematurely  would  not  only  tax  the 
colony  beyond  its  resources,  but  would  dismiss  the 
present  rulers  of  the  people,  with  curses  both  loud  and 
deep,  to  the  unambitious  retreats  of  home  and  fireside. 
They  are  turbulent  enough  now,  and  this  matter  of 
religion,  which  our  lords  proprietors  in  England,  the 
bigoted  old  Granville  in  particular,  seem  so  willing 
with  all  their  usualtyranny  to  meddle  with,  has  com- 
pletely maddened  these  same  -people,  in  whose  watery 
county  of  Granville  we  now  stand." 

"  And  what  do  you  propose  to  do  ?" 

"  Why,  surely,  to  gain  what  information  we  can, 
before  calling  the  people  to  arms.  To  make  them 
cautious,  is  all  that  we  can  do  now.  The  evidence 
which  I  have  of  this  approaching  insurrection,  though 
enough  for  suspicion,  will  scarcely  be  considered 
enough  for  action  ;  and  I  must  spy  myself,  and  engage 
others  in  the  work,  so  as  to  keep  pace  with  their 
movements.  They  must  be  watched  closely, — ay, 
and  in  every  quarter,  Sir  Edmund,  for  let  me  tell  you, 
that  in  your  own  barony  of  Ashepoo,  they  are  quite 
as  devilishly  inclined  as  here.  They  are  excited  all 
around  us." 

"  But  I  have  seen  nothing  of  all  this,"  was  the  reply 
of  the  landgrave.  "  The  Ashepoos,  what  are  left  of 
them,  seem  quiet  enough  in  my  neighbourhood." 


THE    YEMASSEE.  119 

"  To  be  sure  they  are,  in  the  presence  of  Sir 
Edmund  Bellinger,  the  immediate  authority  of  the 
English  in  their  country.  But  did  you  strip  yourself 
of  your  authority,  as  I  have  done,  for  I  am  just  from 
that  very  quarter ;  put  on  the  dress,  and  some  of  the 
slashing  and  bilbo  swagger  of  a  drunken  captain  from 
the  Low  Countries,  to  whom  a  pot  of  sour  ale  was  the 
supreme  of  felicity,  they  had  shown  you  more  of  their 
true  nature.  Some  of  my  evidence  would  amuse  you. 
For  example,  I  crossed  the  river  last  night  to  the 
house  of  Tamaita,  an  old  squaw  who  tells  fortunes 
in  the  very  centre  of  Terrapin  swamp,  where  she  is 
surrounded  by  as  damnable  an  assemblage  of  living 
alligators,  as  would  have  made  happy  all  the  necro- 
mancers of  the  past  ages ;  she  told  me  my  fortune, 
which  she  had  ready  at  my  hand  ;  and  which,  if  true, 
will  certainly  make  me  a  convert  to  her  philosophy. 
But,  with  her  predictions,  she  gave  me  a  great  deal  of 
advice,  probably  with  the  view  to  their  being  more 
perfectly  verified.  Among  other  things,  she  promised 
me  a  great  deal  of  lightning,  a  promise  which  you 
would  naturally  enough  suppose,  meant  nothing  more 
than  one  of  our  summer  afternoon  thunder  storms, 
which,  by  the  way,  are  terrible  enough." 

"  What  else  should  she  mean  ?" 

"  Her  lightning  signified  the  arrows  of  the  Yemas- 
sees.  In  this  way,  they  figure  the  rapidity  and  the 
danger  attending  the  flight  of  their  long  shafts.  The 
promise  tallied  well  with  the  counsel  of  Sanutee,  who 
advised  me  yesterday  to  be  off  in  the  big  canoe." 

"  Which  advice  you  decline — you  propose  still  to 
continue  here,  my  lord — Captain  Harrison,  I  mean," 
replied  Sir  Edmund* 

"  Of  God's  surety,  I  will,  Sir  Edmund.  Can  I  else 
now  T  I  must  watch  this  movement  as  well  as  I  can, 
and  make  our  people  generally  do  so,  or  the  tomahawk 
and  fire  will  sweep  them  off  in  a  single  night.  Apart 
from  that,  you  know  this  sort  of  adventure  is  a  pleasure 
to  me,  and  there  is  a  something  of  personal  interest  in 
some  of  my  journeyings,  which  I  delight  to  see  ripen." 


120  THE    YEMASSEE. 

Bellinger  smiled,  and  Harrison  continued  with  an  air 
of  the  most  perfect  business. 

"  But  go  on,  gentlemen — the  sooner,  the  better. 
Make  the  best  of  your  way  to  Charlestown,  but  trust 
not  to  cross  the  land  as  you  came.  Keep  from  the 
woods,  for  the  journey  that  way  is  a  slow  one,  and  if 
things  turn  out  as  I  fear,  they  will  swarm  before  long 
with  enemies,  even  to  the  gates  of  Charlestown.  Do 
me  grace  to  place  these  despatches  safely  with  their 
proper  trusts.  The  assembly  will  read  these  in  secret. 
This  to  the  lieutenant-governor,  who  will  act  upon  it 
immediately.  Despatch  now,  gentlemen — »I  have  hired 
boat,  which  Granger  will  procure  for  you  from  Grim- 
stead." 

The  commissioners  were  soon  provided,  and  took 
their  departure  at  once  for  the  city.  Granger,  after 
this,  returned  to  the  conference  with  Harrison  at  the 
Chief's  Bluff,  where  the  latter  continued  to  linger. 

"  Have  you  seen  Hector?"  asked  the  latter. 

"  I  have  not,  sir." 

"  Indeed.  Strange !  He  had  a  charge  from  me 
yesterday  to  take  the  track  of  a  sea-faring  fellow, 
whom  I  encountered,  and  of  whom  I  had  suspicions — 
after  that,  he  was  to  cross,  and  give  you  intelligence 
of  my  being  here." 

"  I  have  seen  nothing  of  him." 

"  The  blockhead  has  plunged  into  trap  then,  I  doubt 
hot.  Confound  him,  for  a  dull  beast.  To  be  absent  at 
this  time,  when  I  so  much  want  him." 

While  Harrison  thus  vented  his  anger  and  disquiet, 
Granger,  suddenly  recollecting  that  he  was  called 
to  the  afternoon  before,  by  one  in  a  boat,  as  he  was 
proceeding  rapidly  to  join  the  commissioners  in  Po- 
cota-ligo,  though  without  knowing  the  voice  or  hear- 
ing it  repeated,  now  related  the  circumstance,  and 
at  once  satisfied  the  person  he  addressed  of  the  cor- 
rectness of  his  apprehensions. 

"  Ha — he  is  then  in  that  sailor's  clutches.  But 
lie  shall  disgorge  him.  I'll  not  lose  Hector,  on  any 
terms.     He's  the  very  prince  of  body  servants,  and 


THE    YEMASSEE.  121 

loves  me,  I  verily  believe,  as  I  do  my  mistress.  He 
must  not  suffer.  Look  forth,  Granger,  you  have  sharp 
eyes_look  forth,  and  say  what  you  think  of  the 
craft,  lying  there  at  the  Broad-bend." 

"  I  have  watched  her,  sir,  for  the  last  hour,  but  can't 
say  for  certain  what  to  think.  It  is  easier  to  say  what 
she  is  not,  than  what  she  is." 

"  That  will  do— say  what  she  is  not,  and  I  can  read- 
ily satisfy  myself  as  to  what  she  is." 

"  She  has  no  colours— her  paint's  fresh,  put  on  since 
she's  been  in  these  waters.     She  is  not  a  Spaniard, 
sir,  nor  is  she  English,  that's  certain." 
"  Well,  what  next,  Sagacity  ?" 

The  trader  paused  a  few  moments,  as  if  to  think, 
then,  with  an  assured  manner,  and  without  seeming 
to  annex  any  great  importance  to  the  communication 
which  he  made,  he  dryly  replied — 

"  Why,  sir,  she's  neither  one  thing ,  nor  another  m 
look,  but  a  mixture  of  all.  Now,  when  that's  the  case 
in  the  look  of  a  vessel,  it's  a  sign  that  the  crew  is  a 
mixture,  and  that  there  is  no  one  person  regulating. 
It's  left  to  them  to  please  their  taste  in  most  things, 
and  so  that  paint  seems  put  on  as  if  Dutch,  and  French, 
Spanish,  and  Portuguese,  and  English,  all  had  some 
hand  in  it.  There's  yellow  and  black,  red  and  green, 
and  all  colours,  I  make  out,  where  no  one  nation  would 
employ  more  than  one  or  two  of  them." 
"  Well,  what  do  you  infer  from  all  that  V 
"  I  think,  sir,  she's  a  pirate,  or  what's  no  better,  a 
Spanish  guarda-costa."  . 

"  The  devil  you  do,  and  Hector  is  in  her  jaws.  But 
what  other  reasons  have  you  for  this  opinion  I" 

"What  is  she  doing  here— having  no  intercourse 
with  the  people— keeping  off  from  the  landing— show- 
ing no  colours,  and  yet  armed  to  the  teeth  1  If  there 
be  nothing  wrong,  sir,  why  this  concealment  and  dis- 
tance ?" 

"  You  jump  readily  and  with  some  reason  to  a  con- 
clusion, Granger,  and  you  may  be  right.     Now  hear 
my  thought.     That  vessel  comes  from  Saint  Augustine, 
Vol.  I.  11 


122  THE    YEMASSEE. 

and  brings  arms  to  the  Yemassees,  and  urges  on  this 
very  insurrection  of  which  you  had  a  taste  last  night." 

"  Very  likely,  and  she  may  be  a  pirate  too.  They 
are  thick  about  the  coast." 

"  Ay,  Granger,  as  the  contents  of  some  of  your 
packages  might  tell  if  they  had  tongues,"  said  Harri- 
son, with  a  smil6. 

"  God  forbid,  captain,"  exclaimed  the  trader,  with  a 
simple  gravity,  which  rose  into  honest  dignity  as  he 
continued — "  I  can  show  bills  for  all  my  goods,  from 
worthy  citizens  in  Charlestown  and  elsewhere." 

"  No  matter,  I  charge  you  not.  But  you  may  be 
right.  To  be  a  pirate  and  a  Spaniard  are  not  such 
distinct  matters,  and  now  I  think  with  you,  the  proba- 
bility is,  she  is  both.  But  what  I  mean  to  say,  Gran- 
ger, is  this — that  now  she  comes  here  with  no  piratical 
intent,  but  to  serve  other  and  perhaps  worse  purposes 
— else,  what  keeps  her  from  plundering  the  shore  ?" 

"  The  best  reason  in  the  world,  sir ;  it's  a  long  reach 
she  must  go  through  before  she  safely  keels  the  sea. 
It's  slow  work  to  get  from  the  bay  of  the  Broad,  and  a 
wind  takes  its  pleasure  in  coming  to  fill  up  a  sail  in  this 
crooked  water.  Let  them  once  do  what  they  came  for, 
and  make  the  coast,  then  look  out  for  the  good  mer- 
chantmen who  find  their  way  into  the  Gulf  of  Mexico." 

"  Well,  whether  Spaniard  or  pirate,  or  Dutch  Fly- 
away, we  must  get  Hector  out  of  her  jaws,  if  it's  only 
to  keep  him  a  gentleman.  And — but  stay,  she  drops 
a  boat.     Do  you  make  out  who  comes  in  it  ?" 

"  Two  men  pull — " 

"  Certain.     Who  again,  Mercury  V 

"  A  bluff,  stout  fellow,  sits  astern,  wears  a  bluejacket, 
and—" 

"  A  gold  chain  ?" 

"  He  does,  sir,  with  thick-hanging  shining  buttons." 

"  The  same.     That's  Hercules." 

"Who,  sir?" 

"Hercules  or  Ajax,  I  don't  remember  which.  I 
gave  him  one  or  other,  or  both  names  yesterday,  and 
shall  probably  find  another  for  him  to-day,  for  I  must 
have  Hector.    He  shapes  for  the  shore — does  he  ?" 


THE    YEMASSEE.  123 

"  Yes,  sir ;  and,  from  his  present  course,  he  will 
make  the  Parson's  landing." 

"  Ha  !  say  you  so,  most  worthy  trader — we  shall 
be  at  the  meeting." — "  Yes,"  muttered  the  speaker, 
rather  to  himself  than  to  his  companion — "  we  shall 
be  at  the  meeting  !  He  must  not  look  upon  my  pretty 
Bess  without  seeing  the  good  fortune  which  the  fates 
yield  her,  in  the  person  of  her  lover.  We  shall  be 
there,  Granger ;  and,  not  to  be  unprovided  with  the 
means  for  effecting  the  escape  of  Hector,  let  us  call 
up  some  of  our  choice  spirits — some  of  the  Green 
Foresters — they  know  the  signal  of  their  captain,  and, 
thanks  to  fortune,  I  left  enough  for  the  purpose  at  the 
smithy  of  Dick  Grimstead.  Come,  man  of  wares  and 
merchandises — be  packing." 

Leading  the  way  from  the  hill,  Harrison,  followed 
by  Granger,  descended  to  the  level  forest  about  a  mile 
off,  in  the  immediate  rear  of  the  Block  House,  and 
placing  his  hunting  horn  to  his  lips,  he  sounded  it 
thrice  with  a  deep  clear  note,  which  called  up  a  dozen 
echoes  from  every  dell  in  the  surrounding  woods. 
The  sounds  had  scarcely  ceased  to  reverberate,  before 
they  were  replied  to,  in  a  long  and  mellow  roll,  from 
one,  seemingly  a  perfect  master  of  the  instrument,  who, 
even  after  the  response  had  been  given,  poured  forth  a 
generous  blast,  followed  by  a  warbling  succession  of 
cadences,  melting  away  at  last  into  a  silence  which 
the  ear,  having  carefully  treasured  up  the  preceding 
notes,  almost  refused  to  acknowledge.  From  another 
point  in  the  woods,  a  corresponding  strain  thrice  re- 
peated, followed  soon  after  the  first,  and  announced  an 
understanding  among  the  parties,  to  which  the  instru- 
ment had  been  made  ably  subservient. 

"  These  are  my  Green  Jackets,  Granger;  you  have 
made  money  out  of  that  colour,  my  Plutus — ^my  own 
green  jacket  boys,  true  as  steel,  and  swift  as  an  Indian 
arrow.  Come,  bury  deeper  in  the  thick  woods,  where, 
in  half  an  hour,  you  may  see  a  dozen  of  the  same 
colour-  at  the  gathering." 


124  THE    YEMASSEE 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  J  know  thee,  though  the  world's  strife  on  thy  brow 
Hath  beaten  strangely.    Altered  to  the  eye, 
Methinks  I  look  upon  the  self-same  man, 
With  nature  all  unchanged." 

The  boat  from  the  unknown  vessel  reached  the 
point  jutting  out  into  the  river,  in  front  of  the  dwelling 
of  the  old  pastor ;  and  the  seaman,  already  more  than 
once  introduced  to  our  notice,  leaving  the  two  men  in 
charge  of  it,  took  his  way  to  the  habitation  in  question. 
The  old  man  received  the  stranger  with  all  the  hos- 
pitalities of  the  region,  and  ushered  him  into  the 
presence  of  his  family  with  due  courtesy,  though  as  a 
stranger.  The  seaman  seemed  evidently  to  constrain 
himself  while  surveying  the  features  of  the  inmates, 
which  he  did  with  some  curiosity;  and  had  Harrison 
been  present,  he  might  have  remarked,  with  some  dis- 
satisfaction, the  long,  earnest,  and  admiring  gaze 
which,  in  this  survey,  the  beautiful  features  of  Bess 
Matthews  were  made  to  undergo,  to  her  own  evident 
disquiet.  After  some  little  chat,  with  that  bluff,  free, 
hearty  manner  which  is  the  happy  characteristic  of 
the  seafaring  man,  the  stranger  contrived  to  remove 
much  of  the  unfavourable  impression  which  his  gross 
and  impudent  cast  of  face  had  otherwise  made,  and  in 
reply  to  the  natural  inquiry  of  the  pastor  to  that  effect, 
he  gave  a  brief  account  of  the  nature  of  his  pursuits 
in  that  quarter, — and  though  a  close  and  scrutinizing 
minJ  might  have  picked  out  no  small  number  of  flaws 
in  jLe  yarn  which  he  spun,  yet  to  the  unsophisticated 
sense  of  the  little  family,  the  story  was  straight  for- 
w0ru  and  clear  enough.  The  trade  in  furs  and  skins 
usually  carried  on  with  the  Indians  was  well  known 
to  be  exceedingly  valuable  in  many  of  the  European 


THE    YEMASSEE.  125 

markets,  and  with  this  object  the  seaman  accounted 
for  his  presence  in  a  part  of  the  world,  not  often 
honoured  with  the  visit  of  a  vessel  of  so  much  preten- 
sion as  that  which  he  commanded.  From  one  thing  to 
another,  with  a  fluent,  dashing  sort  of  speech,  he  went 
on — now  telling  of  his  own,  and  now  commenting 
on  their  adventures,  and,  bating  an  occasional  oath, 
which  invariably  puckered  up  the  features  of  the  old 
Puritan,  he  contrived  to  make  himself  sufficiently 
agreeable,  and  after  a  very  passable  fashion.  Bessy 
did  not,  it  is  true,  incline  the  ear  after  the  manner  of 
Desdemona  to  her  Blackamoor,  but  in  the  anecdote, 
hurried  and  rash,  which  every  now  and  then  enriched 
the  rambling  speech  of  their  guest,  either  in  the  tale 
of  his  own,  or  of  the  achievement  of  others,  she  found 
much,  in  spite  of  herself,  to  enlist  her  curiosity  and 
command  her  attention.  Nor  was  he  less  influenced 
by  her  presence  than  she  by  his  narrative.  Though 
spoken  generally,  much  of  his  conversation  was 
seemingly  addressed  in  especial  to  the  maiden.  With 
this  object,  he  sprinkled  his  story  full  of  the  wonders 
of  the  West  Indies,  with  all  of  which  he  appeared  fa- 
miliar— spoke  of  its  luscious  fruits  and  balmy  climates 
— its  groves  of  lemon  and  of  orange — its  dark-eyed 
beauties,  and  innumerous  productions  of  animate  and 
vegetable  life.  Then  of  its  gold  and  jewels,  the  ease 
of  their  attainment,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  which 
the  vulgar  mind  would  be  apt  to  suppose  exceedinglj 
attractive  and  overcoming  to  the  weak  one.  Having 
said  enough  as  he  thought,  fairly  and  fully  to  dazzle 
the  imagination  of  the  girl — and  secure  now  of  a 
favourable  estimate  of  himself,  he  drew  from  his 
bosom  a  little  casket,  containing  a  rich  gold  chain  of 
Moorish  filigree  work,  arabesque  wrought,  and  prob- 
ably a  spoil  of  Grenada,  and  pressed  it  on  her  accept- 
ance. His  manner  was  so  assured,  that  her  refusal 
to  do  so  called  for  the  open  expression  of  his  astonish- 
ment. 

'-  And  wherefore  not — young-  lady  ?     The  chain  is 
not  unbecoming  for  the  neck,  though  that  be  indeec 
11* 


126  THE    YEMASSEE. 

the  whitest.  Now,  the  girls  of  Spain,  with  a  skin 
nothing  to  be  compared  with  yours,  thty  wear  them 
thick  as  grape  vines.  Come,  now — don't  be  shy  and 
foolish.  The  chain  is  rich,  and  worth  a  deal  of  money. 
Let  me  lock  it  now.  You  will  look  like  a  queen  in 
it — a  queen  of  all  the  Indies  could  not  look  more  so." 

Rut  the  sailor  blundered  grossly.  Bess  Matthews 
was  a  thinking,  feeling  woman,  and  he  addressed  her 
as  a  child.  She  had  now  recovered  from  the  interest 
which  she  had  shown  while  he  narrated  adventures 
that  excited  her  imagination,  and  set  her  fancy  in 
glow,  conjuring  up  and  putting  into  activity  man}r  of 
those  imaged  dreams  which  the  young  romancer  has 
so  ready  at  all  times  in  thought — and  she  soon  con- 
vinced him  that  he  had  greatly  mistaken  her,  when  he 
was  so  willing  to  transfer  to  himself  the  attention 
which  she  had  simply  yielded  to  his  stories.  He  now 
almost  shrunk  at  the  gentle  but  lofty  tone  in  which 
she  reiterated  her  refusal  to  accept  the  proffered  orna- 
ment. But  the  next  moment  with  visible  vexation,  to 
the  astonishment  of  the  old  pastor,  he  thus  addressed 
him: — 

"  Why,  Matthews,  you  have  made  your  daughter  as 
great  a  saint  as  yourself.  Ha !  I  see  you  stagger. 
Didn't  know  me,  eh !  Didn't  remember  your  old  parish 
acquaintance,  Dick  Chorley." 

The  pastor  looked  at  him  with  some  interest,  but 
with  more  seeming  commiseration. 

"  And  are  you  little  Richard  ?" 

"  Little,  indeed — that's  a  good  one.  I  was  once 
little,  and  little  enough,  when  you  knew  me, — but  I  am 
big  enough  now,  John  Matthews,  to  have  myself 
righted  when  wrong  is  done  me.  It  is  not  now,  that 
the  parish  beadle  can  flog  little  Dick  Chorley.  Not 
now,  by  God  ! — and  it's  been  a  sore  sorrow  with  some 
of  them, I  think,  that  it  ever  was  the  case." 

"  Well  Richard,  I'm  glad  to  find  you  so  much  better 
off  in  the  world,  and  with  a  better  disposition  to  work 
for  yourself  honestly,  than  in  old  times,"  said  the 
pastor. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  127 

"  Hark  ye,  Matthews — no  more  of  that.  That's  as 
it  may  be.  Perhaps  I'm  better — perhaps  I'm  not.  It's 
none  of  your  business  either  one  way  or  the  other ; 
and  to  look  back  too  closely  into  old  time  doings,  ain't 
a  friend's  part,  I'm  thinking.  Blast  me  !  old  man,  but 
you  had  nearly  made  me  forget  myself ;  and  I  wouldn't 
like  to  say  rough  things  to  you  or  any  of  yours,  for 
I  can't  but  remember  you  were  always  more  kind  to 
me  than  the  rest,  and  if  I  had  minded  you  I  had  done 
better.  But  what's  done  can't  be  undone,  and  the  least 
said  is  soonest  mended." 

"  I  meant  not  to  speak  harshly,  Richard,  when  I 
spoke  of  the  past,"  said  the  pastor,  mildly,  "  but  the 
exile  finds  it  sweet  to  remember,  even  those  things 
which  were  sorrows  in  his  own  land.  I  find  it  so  with 
me  ;  and  though  to  speak  plainly,  Richard,  I  would 
rather  not  see  to  know  you  as  of  old,  yet  the  re- 
cognition of  your  person,  for  a  moment,  gave  me  a 
sentiment  of  pleasure." 

"And  why  should  it  not — and  why  should  it  not? 
Blast  me,  old  man,  but  you  don't  think  I'm  the  same 
ragged  urchin  that  the  parish  fed  and  flogged — that 
broke  his  master's  head,  and  was  the  laughing  stock, 
and  the  scapegoat  of  every  rascality  in  the  shire  1 — no, 
no.  The  case  is  changed  now,  and  if  I'm  no  better, 
I'm  at  least  an  abler  man  ;  and  that  stands  for  right 
and  morality  all  the  world  over.  I'm  doing  well  in  the 
world,  Matthews — drive  a  good  trade — own  half  in  as 
handsome  a  clipper  as  ever  swum  like  a  gull  in  the 
blue  waters  of  the  gulf;  and,  if  the  world  will  let  me, 
I  shall  probably  in  little  time  be  as  good — that  is 
to  say  as  rich  a  man — as  any  of  them.  If  they  won't, 
they  must  look  out  for  themselves,  that's  all." 

"One  thing  pleases  me,  at  least, Richard,"  said  the 
pastor, gravely,  "and  that  is  to  find  your  pursuits  such 
that  you  need  not  be  ashamed  of  them.  This  should 
give  you  an  honest  pride,  as  it  certainly  yields  me 
pleasure." 

There  was  rather  more  of  inquiry  than  of  remark 
:m  this  observation,  and  Chorley  saw  it. 


128  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"Ay,  ay,  if  it  pleases  you  I'm  satisfied.  You  are 
a  good  judge  of  what's  right,  and  can  say.  For  my 
part,  I  make  it  a  rule  to  boast  nothing  of  my  virtue. 
It  takes  the  polish  off  a  good  action,  to  turn  it  over  too 
often  in  one's  mouth." 

There  was  a  satirical  chuckle  following  the  speech 
of  the  sailor  which  the  pastor  did  not  seem  to  relish. 
It  seemed  to  sneer  at  the  joint  homilies  which  they 
had  been  uttering.  The  dialogue  was  changed  by  the 
pastor. 

"  And  where  is  your  mother  now,  Richard  ?" 

"  Ask  the  parish  church-yard — it  has  one  grave 
more,  that  I  can  swear  for,  than  when  you  left  it ;  and, 
though  I'm  bad  at  grammar,  I  could  read  the  old  wo- 
man's name  upon  the  stick  at  the  head.  When  she 
died  I  came  off — I  couldn't  stand  it  then,  though  I 
stood  it  well  enough  before.  They  have  not  seen  me 
since,  nor  I  them — and  there's  no  love  lost  between  us. 
If  I  ever  go  back,  it  will  be  to  see  the  old  beadle  and 
that  grave  stick." 

"  I  hope  you  harbour  no  malice,  Richard,  against  the 
man  for  doing  his  duty  ?" 

"  His  duty  ?" 

"  Yes,  his  duty.  He  was  the  officer  of  the  law,  and 
compelled  to  do  what  he  did.  Wherefore  then  would 
you  go  back  to  see  him  simply,  and  then,  so  strangely 
associated  with  your  mother's  grave  V 

"  Ha !  that's  it.  He  broke  her  heart  by  his  treat- 
ment to  me,  and  I  would  break  his  scull  upon  her  grave 
as  a  satisfaction  to  both  of  us.  I  did  wrong  when  a  boy, 
that's  like  enough,  for  older  people  did  wrong  daily  about 
me,  but  was  my  public  disgrace  to  cure  me  of  my 
wrong  1  They  put  me  in  the  stocks,  then  expected  me 
to  be  a  good  citizen.  Wise  enough.  I  tell  you  what, 
Matthews,  I've  seen  something  more  of  the  world  than 
you,  though  you've  seen  more  years  than  I;  and  mark 
my  word,  whenever  a  man  becomes  a  bad  man,  a  thief, 
an  outlaw,  or  a  murderer,  his  neighbours  have  tr  thank 
themselves  for  three  fourths  of  the  teachings  that  have 
made  him  so.     But  this  is  enough  on  this  talk.     Let 


THE    YEMASSEE.  129 

us  say  something  now  of  yourself — and  first,  how  do 
you  like  this  part  of  the  world  ?" 

"  As  well  as  can  be  expected.  I  am  indifferent  to 
any  other,  and  I  have  quiet  here,  which  I  had  not  al- 
ways in  the  turbulent  changes  of  England.  My  family 
too  are  satisfied,  and  their  contentment  makes  the 
greater  part  of  mine." 

"  You'd  find  it  better  and  pleasanter  in  Florida.  I 
drive  a  good  business  there  with  the  Spaniard.  I'm 
rather  one  myself  now,  and  carry  his  flag,  though  I 
trade  chiefly  on  my  own  log." 

The  dialogue  was  here  broken  in  upon  by  the  en- 
trance of  Harrison,  who,  in  spite  of  the  cold  courtesies 
of  the  pastor,  and  the  downcast  reserve  in  the  eyes  of 
Bess  Matthews,  yet  joined  the  little  group  with  the 
composure  of  one  perfectly  satisfied  of  the  most  cordial 
reception. 

^i*7 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"  Thou  shalt  disgorge  thy  prey,  give  up  thy  spoil, 
And  yield  thee  prisoner.    The  time  is  short, 
Make  thy  speech  fitting." 

To  the  green  wood  with  Harrison  and  the  trader. 
We  have  heard  the  merry  horn  responding  freely  to 
that  of  the  former.  "  You  shall  see  them,"  said  he  to 
Granger — "  brave  fellows  and  true,  and  sufficient  for  my 
purpose.  I  can  rely  upon  Grimstead,  the  smith,  and 
his  brother,  certainly,  for  I  left  them  but  a  couple  of 
hours  ago  at  the  smithy.  Theirs  was  the  first  answer 
we  heard.  I  know  not  from  whom  comes  the  second, 
but  I  look  for  Wat  Grayson  from  that  quarter,  and 
sure  enough,  he  is  here.  Ha  !  Grayson,  you  are  true 
and  in  time,  as  usual.  I  give  you  welcome,  for  I  want 
your  arm." 

"  And  at  your  service,  captain,  to  strike  deer  or  ene- 


130  THE    YEMASSEE. 

my,  for  fight  or  labour.  Ha  !  Granger — but  you  have- 
forgotten  my  knife,  which  I've  sorely  wanted." 

"  It  is  here,  at  the  Block  House,  ready  for  you." 

"  Good !  Well  captain,  what's  the  service  now  1 
I'm  ready,  you  see,  and  glad  that  you  feel  able  to  count 
so  free  upon  Wat  Grayson." 

"  You  shall  soon  see,  Grayson.  I  wait  but  for  a 
few  more  of  the  boys,  to  tell  you  our  work  ;  and  in 
order  not  to  waste  more  time,  wind  your  horn,  and  let 
the  men  come  freely." 

The  horn  was  wound,  and  but  a  few  seconds  had 
elapsed  when  a  distinct  reply  from  two  other  quarters 
acknowledged  the  potent  summons.  In  a  few  moments 
the  sturdy  blacksmith,  Grimstead,  followed  by  his 
younger  brother,  burst  into  the  little  area,  which  was 
the  usual  point  of  assemblage.  A  moment  after,  a 
bustling  little  body,  known  as  Dr.  Nichols,  the  only 
medical  man  in  that  region,  also  entered  the  ring, 
mounted  upon  the  little  ambling  pony,  or  tacky,  from 
the  marsh — a  sturdy  little  animal  in  much  use,  though 
of  repute  infinitely  below  its  merits. 

"  Ha !  doctor — our  worthy  Esculapius — how  fares 
it  ?  You  come  in  time,  for  we  look  to  have  some  bones 
for  your  setting  before  long,"  exclaimed  Harrison,  ad- 
dressing him. 

"  Captain  Harrison,"  responded  the  little  profes- 
sional, with  a  most  imposing  manner,  "  it  gives  me 
pleasure  at  any  moment  to  do  my  countiy  service.  I 
am  proud  that  my  poor  ability  may  be  called  into  exer- 
cise, though  I  should  rather  have  you  invoke  my  per- 
sonal than  professional  offices." 

"  We  shall  need  both,  doctor,  most  probably.  We 
must  first  risk  our  bones  before  the  surgeon  may  hope 
to  handle  them ;  and  in  doing  so,  have  no  scruple  that 
he  should  risk  his  along  with  ours." 

"  And  wherefore,  may  I  ask,  Captain  Harrison  ?" 

"  Simply,  doctor,  that  he  may  be  taught  a  due  les- 
son of  sympathy  by  his  own  hurts,  which  shall  make 
him  tender  of  ours.  But  we  are  slow.  Who  have 
we  here  to  count  on  for  a  brush  V 


THE    YEMASSEE.  131 

"  Count  on  Dick  Grimstead,  captain,  and  you  may 
put  down  Tom  with  him,  but  not  as  doctors. — I'm  not 
for  the  doctoring,  captain." 

"  Irreverend  fellow  !"  muttered  Nichols. 

Harrison  laughed,  and  proceeded  to  enumerate  and 
arrange  his  men,  who  now,  with  himself  and  Granger, 
amounted  to  seven.  He  himself  carried  pistols,  and 
the  short  German  rifle  already  described.  The  rest 
had  generally  either  the  clumsy  muskets  of  the  time, 
or  the  tomahawk,  an  instrument  almost  as  formidable, 
and  certainly  quite  as  necessary  in  the  forests.  Some 
of  them  were  dressed  in  the  uniform  of  the  "  green- 
jackets,"  the  corps  which  had  been  raised  by  Harrison 
in  the  Coosaw  war,  and  which  he  commanded.  Though 
ignorant  entirely  of  his  character  and  pursuits,  yet  his 
successful  heading  of  them  in  that  sudden  insurrection, 
at  a  moment  of  great  emergency,  not  less  than  the  free, 
affable,  and  forward  manner  which  characterized  him, 
had  endeared  him  to  them  generally ;  and,  unlike  the 
pastor,  they  were  content  with  this  amount  of  their 
knowledge  of  one  whom  they  had  learned  not  less  to 
love  than  to  obey. 

Harrison  looked  round  upon  his  boys,  as  he  called 
them,  not  heeding  sundry  efforts  which  Nichols  made 
to  command  his  attention.  Suddenly  addressing  Gray- 
son, he  asked — 

"  Where's  Murray  ?" 

"  Sick,  captain — on  the  flat  of  his  back,  or  I  had 
brought  him  with  me.  He  lies  sick  at  Joe  Gibbons' 
up  by  Bates',  where  he's  been  running  up  a  new  house 
for  Gibbons." 

"  He  must  come  from  that,  Grayson.  It  is  too  far 
from  the  Block  House  for  any  of  them,  and  for  a  sick 
man,  it  will  be  hopeless,  if  there  should  be  war.  He 
is  not  safe  there,  Grayson,  you  must  move  him." 

"  That's  impossible,  captain.  He  can't  move,  he's 
down  flat  with  the  fever." 

"  Then  you  must  bring  him  off  on  your  shoulders,  or 
get  a  cart,  for  he  is  not  safe  where  he  is.  I  think  so 
at  least,  for  the  Indians  are  at  work,  and  we   shall,  be- 


132  THE    YEMASSEE. 

fore  very  long,  have  the  war-whoop  ringing  in  our  ears. 
We  must  clear  the  borders,  or  the  Yemassees  will  do 
it  for  us." 

"  And  I'm  ready,  captain,  as  soon  as  they,"  exclaimed 
Grayson ;  "  and  that's  the  notion  of  more  than  Wat 
Grayson.  The  boys,  generally,  long  for  something  to 
do  ;  and,  as  we  go  up  the  river,  the  Indians  get  too  mon- 
strous impudent  to  be  borne  with  much  longer." 

"  True,  Grayson— but  we  must  wait  their  pleasure. 
I  only  give  you  my  suspicions,  and  they  amount  to 
nothing  so  long  as  the  Yemassees  profess  peace." 

"  Oh,  hang  their  professions,  captain,  say  I.  I  don't 
see  why  we  should  wait  on  them  to  begin  the  brush, 
seeing  it  must  be  begun.  There's  nothing  like  a  dash 
forward,  when  you  see  you  have  to  go.  That's  my 
notion ;  and,  say  but  the  word,  we'll  catch  the  weazel 
asleep  when  he  thinks  to  catch  us.  All  our  boys  are 
ready  for  it,  and  a  ring  of  the  horn  round  Alligatoi 
Swamp  will  bring  a  dozen  ;  and  by  night  we  could, 
have  Dick  Mason,  and  Spragg,  and  Baynton,  who  have 
gone  up  to  the  new  clearing  upon  the  fork  of  Tulijji- 
nee." 

"It  is  well,"  said  Harrison — "well  that  you  should 
be  ready,  but  it  is  for  the  assembly  to  make  war  and 
peace, — not  for  us.  We  can  only  provide  for  our  de- 
fence in  case  of  assault,  and  against  it  I  want  to  pre- 
pare you,  for  I  greatly  apprehend  it.  But,  in  the  mean- 
time, I  have  another  job  for  execution." 

Nichols  now  finding  a  favourable  moment,  in  his 
usual  swelling  manner,  addressed  Harrison  and  the 
company : — 

"  Captain  Harrison,  understand  me.  I  protest  my 
willingness  to  volunteer  in  any  matter  for  the  good  of 
the  people.  It  is  the  part  of  the  true  patriot  to  die  for 
the  people,  and  I'm  willing  when  the  time  comes. 
Prepare  the  block,  unsheath  the  sword,  and  provide 
the  executioner, — and  I,  Constantine  Maximilian  Nich- 
ols, medical  doctor,  well  assured  that  in  my  death  I 
shall  save  my  country,  will  freely  yield  up  my  poor 
life,  even  as  the  noble  Decius  of  old,  for  the  securing 


THE    YEMASSEE.  133 

of  so  great  a  blessing  for  my  people.  But,  captain,  it 
must  be  clear  to  my  mind  that  the  necessity  is  such, 
the  end  to  be  attained  is  of  so  great  moment,  and  the 
means  to  be  employed  are  warranted  by  the  laws,  in 
letter  and  in  spirit.  Speak  therefore,  captain,  the  de- 
sign before  us.  Let  me  hear  your  purpose — let  my 
mind  examine  into  its  bearings  and  its  tendencies,  and 
I  will  then  declare  myself." 

Harrison,  who  knew  the  weak  point  of  the  speaker, 
with  singular  composure  preserved  his  gravity,  while 
the  foresters  laughed  aloud. 

"  Come  with  us,  Constantine  Maximilian — your  own 
mind  shall  judge." 

He  led  the  party  to  the  Chief's  Bluff,  and  from  the 
eminence  he  pointed  out  to  them  at  a  little  distance 
below,  where  lay  the  boat  of  the  schooner,  one  of  the 
seamen  rambling  upon  the  land  at  a  little  distance  from 
it,  while  the  other  lay  in  its  bottom. 

"  Now,  Constantine,"  said  he,  "  behold  those  men.  I 
want  them  secured,  bound  hand  and  foot,  and  kept  un- 
til farther  orders." 

"  Show  me,  Captain  Harrison,  that  the  peace  of  the 
country,  the  lives  of  my  fellow-countrymen,  or  the  lib- 
erties of  the  people  depend  upon  the  measure,  and  I 
am  ready  to  yield  up  my  life  in  the  attainment  of  your 
object.  Until  you  do  this,  captain,  I  decline  ;  and 
must,  furthermore,  lift  up  my  voice  in  adjuration  to 
those  about  me,  against  acting  as  you  counsel,  doing 
this  great  wrong  to  the  men  whom  you  have  singled 
out  for  bondage,  depriving  them  of  their  liberties,  and 
possibly  their  lives." 

"  You  are  scrupulous,  doctor,  and  we  shall  have  to 
do  without  you.  We  shall  certainly  secure  those  two 
men,  though  we  meditate  nothing  against  the  liberties 
of  the  people." 

"  I  shall  warn  them  by  my  voice  of  your  design 
upon  them,"  was  the  dogged  resolve  of  the  doctor. 

"  Of  God's  surety,  if  you  dare,  Nichols,  I  shall  tum- 
ble you  headlong  from  the  bluff,"  sternly  responded 
Harrison ;  and  the  patriot,  to  whom  the  declamation  was 
I.  12 


134  THE    YEMASSKE. 

enough  of  glory,  shrunk  back,  in  little,  behind  the 
rest,  with  whom  the  leader  found  no  difficulty.  He 
proceeded, — 

"  Those  men  must  be  secured — they  are  but  two, 
and  you  are  five.  They  are  without  arms,  so  that  all 
you  may  look  for  in  the  affair,  will  be  a  black  eye  or 
bloody  nose.  This  will  trouble  neither  of  you  much, 
though  less  ready  than  Constantine  Maximilian  to  die 
for  the  people.  Tumble  the  dogs  into  the  sand  and 
rope  them — but  do  them  no  more  damage  than  is 
necessary  for  that." 

"  Who  are  they,  captain  ?"  asked  Grayson. 

"  Nay,  I  know  not,  but  they  come  from  that  vessel, 
and  what  she  is  I  know  not.  One  thing  is  certain, 
however,  and  hence  my  proceeding :  In  that  vessel 
they  have  safely  put  away  my  black  fellow,  Hector." 

"  The  devil  they  have — the  kidnappers." 

"  Ay  have  they,  and  unless  I  get  him  out,  they  will 
have  him  in  the  Cuba  market,  and  heaven  knows  how 
many  more  beside  him,  in  twenty  days,  and  we  have 
no  vessel  to  contend  with  them.  There  is  but  one 
way  to  give  them  a  taste  of  what  they  may  expect. 
You  secure  these  lads,  and  when  you  have  done  so, 
bring  them  to  Parson  Matthews,  sound  your  horn,  and 
I  shall  then  do  my  share  of  the  duty." 

Leaving  them  to  the  performance  of  this  task,  Har- 
rison went  forward  to  the  cottage  of  the  pastor  ;  while, 
headed  by  Grayson,  the  whole  party,  Nichols  not  ex- 
cepted, went  down  the  bluff,  and  came  by  a  circuitous 
route  upon  the  seamen.  One  of  them  slept  in  the  boat 
and  was  secured  without  any  difficulty.  His  opening 
eyes  found  himself  closely  grappled  by  a  couple  of  sturdy 
woodsmen,  and  he  did  not  even  venture  to  cry  aloud, 
warned  as  he  had  been  against  such  a  measure,  by 
the  judicious  elevation  of  a  tomahawk  above  his  head. 
The  other  took  to  his  heels  on  seeing  the  capture  of 
his  companion,  but  stood  no  manner  of  chance  with 
the  fleet-footed  foresters.  He  was  soon  caught,  and 
Constantine  Maximilian  Nichols  was  the  most  adroit 
of  the  party  in  bandaging  up  the  arms  of  both.     The 


THE    YEMASSEE.  135 

truth  is,  the  doctor  was  not  content  with  one  profes- 
sion only.  He  aimed  at  popular  favour.  His  speeches 
were  framed  solely  with  that  end,  and  he  accordingly 
prated  for  ever,  as  is  the  familiar  custom  always  among 
the  cunning,  about  those  rights  of  man  for  which  he 
cared  but  little.  He  was  not  judicious  in  his  declama- 
tion, however, — he  professed  quite  too  largely  ;  and,  in 
addition  to  this  misfortune,  it  grew  into  a  faith  among 
his  neighbours,  that,  while  his  forms-  of  speech  were 
full  of  bloodshed  and  sacrifice,  the  heart  of  the  doctoi 
was  benevolently  indifferent  to  all  the  circumstances 
and  the  joys  of  strife.  But  the  prisoners  were  now 
secured,  and,  under  close  guard,  were  marched  agree- 
ably to  arrangement,  to  the  cottage  of  the  pastor. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

"  'Tis  the  rash  hand  that  rights  on  the  wild  sea, 
Or  in  the  desert — violence  is  law, 
And  reason,  where  the  civil  hand  is  weak — 
Our  hope  is  in  it  now." 

The  entrance  of  Harrison,  alone,  into  the  cottage  of 
the  pastor,  put  a  stop  to  the  dialogue  which  had  been 
going  on  between  himself  and  the  seaman.  The  re- 
ception which  the  host  gave  the  new  comer,  was 
simply  and  coldly  courteous — that  of  his  lady  was 
more  grateful,  but  still  constrained,  and  Bess,  she 
feared  to  look  up  at  all,  lest  all  eyes  should  see 
how  much  better  her  reception  would  have  been. 
Harrison  saw  all  this,  but  the  behaviour  of  the  pastor 
seemed  to  have  no  effect  upon  him.  He  rattled  on  in 
his  usual  manner,  though  with  something  of  loftiness 
still,  which  appeared  to  intimate  its  character  of  con- 
descension. 

"  Mr.  Matthews,  it  gives  me  pleasure  to  find  you 
well — better,  I  think,  than  when  I  had  the  pleasure  to 


136  THE    YEMASSEE. 

see  you  last.  You  see,  I  tax  your  courtesies,  though 
you  could  find  no  relatives  of  mine  in  Charlestown 
willing  to  extend  you  theirs.  But  the  time  will  come, 
sir,  and  your  next  visit  may  be  more  fruitful.  Ah  ! 
Mrs.  Matthews,  growing  young  again,  surely.  Do  you 
know  I  hold  this  climate  to  be  the  most  delightful  in  the 
world, — a  perfect  seat  of  health  and  youth,  in  which 
the  old  Spaniard,  John  Ponce,  of  Leon,  would  certainly 
have  come  nigher  the  blessed  fountain  he  sought,  than 
he  ever  could  have  done  in  Florida.  And  you,  Bess — 
Miss  Matthews  I  mean — still  sweet,  charming  as  ever. 
Ah  !  Mrs.  Matthews,  you  are  thrice  fortunate — always 
blessed.  Your  years  are  all  so  many  summers — for 
Providence  leaves  to  your  household,  in  all  seasons, 
one  flower  that  compensates  for  all  the  rest." 

And  thus,  half  playful,  half  serious,  Harrison  sev- 
erally addressed  all  in  the  apartment,  the  sailor  ex- 
cepted. That  worthy  looked  on,  and  listened  with  no 
little  astonishment. 

"  D — d  easy  .to  be  sure,"  he  half  muttered  to  him- 
self. Harrison,  without  distinguishing  the  words, 
heard  the  sounds,  and  readily  comprehending  then 
tenour  from  the  look  which  accompanied  them,  he 
turned  as  playfully  to  the  speaker  as  he  had  done  tc 
all  the  rest. 

"  And  you,  my  old  Hercules — you  here  too  ? — I  left 
you  in  other  company,  when  last  we  met,  and  am 
really  not  sorry  that  you  got  off  without  the  long 
arrow  of  the  Yemassee.  Pray,  how  came  you  so 
fortunate  ?  Few  men  here  would  have  killed  the  dog 
of  an  Indian,  without  looking  for  the  loss  of  his 
scalp,  and  a  broken  head  in  requital.  Give  us  your 
secret,  Hercules." 

"  Look  ye*  young  one,  my  name,  as  I  told  you 
before,  is  not  Hercules — " 

"  Not  Hercules, — indeed  !- — then  it  must  be  Ajax — 
Ajax  or  Agamemnon.  Well,  you  have  your  choice, 
for  you  look  any  of  them  so  well,  that  one  or  other  of 
these  I  must  call  you.  I  could  not  well  understand 
you  by  any  other." 


THE    YEMASSEE.  137 

It  seemed  the  policy  of  Harrison,  or  so  he  appeared 
to  think,  to  provoke  the  person  he  addressed  into 
something  like  precipitance,  suspecting  him,  as  he 
did,  of  a  secret  and  unfriendly  object ;  and  finding  him 
a  choleric  and  rash  person,  he  aimed  so  to  arouse  his 
passion,  as  to  disarm  his  caution  and  defeat  his  judg- 
ment ;  but,  though  Chorley  exhibited  indignation 
enough,  yet  having  his  own  object,  and  wishing  at 
that  time  to  appear  as  amiable  as  possible,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  those  who  knew  him  as  a  different  character 
in  childhood,  he  moderated  duly  his  anger  to  his  situa- 
tion and  desires.  Still,  his  reply  was  fierce  enough, 
and  much  of  it  muttered  in  an  under  tone,  heard  only 
by  the  pastor  and  him  he  addressed. 

"  Hark  ye,  sir,  I  don't  know  what  you  may  be,  and 
don't  much  care  ;  but  blast  my  heart,  if  you  don't  mind 
your  eyes,  I'll  take  your  ears  off,  and  slit  your  tongue, 
or  I'm  no  man.  I  won't  suffer  any  man  to  speak  to  me 
in  this  manner." 

"  You  won't — and  you'll  take  my  ears  off  and  slit 
my  tongue.  Why,  Hercules,  you're  decidedly  dan- 
gerous.    But  I  shall  not  tax  your  services  so  far." 

"  Shall  have  them,  though,  by  G — d,  whether  you 
will  or  not.  You  are  not  two  to  one  now,  youngster, 
and  shan't  swing  to-day  at  my  cost,  as  you  did  yes- 
terday." 

"  Pshaw — don't  put  on  your  clouds  and  thunder 
now,  old  Jupiter — you  look,  for  all  the  world,  at  this 
moment  like  a  pirate,  and  must  certainly  frighten  the 
ladies  should  they  dare  to  look  on  you." 

Chorley  started  visibly,  fierce  yet  agitated,  while 
the  close,  dark,  penetrating  eye  of  Harrison  was  fixed 
sternly  upon  his  own.  Before  he  could  recover  in 
time  for  a  reply  in  the  same  by-play  manner — for  the 
dialogue  between  the  two  had  been  carried  on  in  under 
tone — Harrison  went  on,  resuming  that  playfulness 
of  speech  and  look  from  which  he  had  in  the  last  few 
remarks  not  a  little  departed. 

"  Don't  mean  to  offend,  Hercules,  far  from  it.  But 
really,  when  I  spoke,  your  face  did  wear  a  most 
12* 


138  THE    VEMASSEE. 

Blifustier*  expression,  such  an  one  as  Black  Beard 
himself  might  have  put  on  while  sacking  a  merchant 
man,  and  sending  her  crew  on  the  plank." 

"  My  name,  young  man,  as  I  told  you  before,"  began 
the  sailor,  with  a  look  and  tone  of  forbearance  and 
meekness  that  greatly  awakened  .he  sympathies  of  the 
pastor,  to  whom  the  playful  persecution  of  Harrison 
had  been  any  thing  but  grateful — "  my  name  is — " 

But  his  tormentor  interrupted  him — 

"  Is  Jupiter  Amnion,  I  know — give  yourself  nc 
manner  of  trouble,  I  beg  you." 

"  Master  Harrison,"  said  the  pastor,  gravely,  "  this  is 
my  guest,  and  so  are  you,  and  as  such,  permit  me  to  say 
that  mutual  respect  is  due  to  my  house  and  presence, 
if  not  to  one  another.  The  name  of  this  gentleman 
is  Chorley,  Master  Richard  Chorley,  whose  parents  I 
knew  in  England  as  well  as  himself." 

"  Ha  !  Chorley — you  knew  him  in  England — Master 
Chorley,  your  servant, — Hercules  no  longer.  You  will 
be  pleased  to  forgive  my  merriment,  which  is  scarce 
worth  your  cloud  and  thunder  storm.  Chorley,  did  you 
say — Chorley,  a  good  name — the  name  of  a  trader 
upon  the  Spanish  Islands.  Said  I  right?"  inquired 
the  speaker,  who  appeared  to  muse  somewhat  abstract- 
edly over  his  recent  accession  of  intelligence  while 
addressing  the  seaman.    The  latter  sulkily  assented. 

"  Your  craft  lies  in  the  river,  and  you  come  for 
trade.  You  have  goods,  Master  Chorley — fine  stuffs 
for  a  lady's  wear,  and  jewels — have  you  not  jewels 
such  as  would  not  do  discredit  to  a  neck,  white,  soft 
— a  glimpse,  such  as  we  sometimes  have  through  these 
blessed  skies,  of  a  pure,  glorious  heaven  smiling  and 
wooing  beyond  them?  Have  you  no  such  befitting 
gauds — no  highly  wrought  gem  and  ornament — in  the 
shape  of  cross  and  chain,  which  a  sharp  master  of 
trade  may  have  picked  up,  lying  at  watch  snugly 
among  the  little  Islands  of  the  Gulf?" 

"  And  if  I  have?"  sullenly  lesponded  the  seaman. 

*  Blifustier  was  one  of  the  names  conferred  by  the  Dutch,  by 
which  the  early  bucaniers  of  America  were  known. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  13& 

"I  will  buy,  Hercules — Master  Chorley  I  should 
say — I  would  buy  such  a  jewel — a  rich  chain,  or  the. 
■cross  which  the  Spaniard  worships.  Wouldst  thou 
wear  such  a  chain  of  my  gift,  sweet  Bess — it  would 
fit,  because  so  far  below,  thy  neck  in  its  richness. 
Wouldst  take  my  purchase,  Miss  Matthews  ?"  He 
looked  tenderly  to  her  eyes  as  he  spoke,  and  the 
seaman,  watching  their  mutual  glance,  with  a  cu- 
riosity which  became  malignant,  soon  discovered  their 
secret,  if  so  it  may  be  called.  Before  his  daugh- 
ter could  speak,  the  old  pastor  sternly  answered  for 
her  in  the  negative.  His  feelings  had  grown  more  and 
more  uncompromising  and  resentful  at  every  word  of 
the  previous  dialogue.  In  his  eyes  the  cool  compo- 
sure of  Harrison  was  the  superb  of  audacity,  particu- 
larly as,  in  the  previous  interview,  he  thought  he  had 
said  and  done  enough  to  discourage  the  pretensions  of 
any  suiter — and  one  so  utterly  unknown  to  him  as  the 
present.  Not  that  there  was  not  much  in  all  that  he 
knew  of  the  person  in  question,  to  confound  and  dis- 
tract his  judgment.  In  their  intercourse,  and  in  all 
known  intercourse,  he  had  always  proved  brave,  sen- 
sible, and  generous.  He  had  taken  the  lead  among 
the  volunteers,  a  short  time  previous,  in  defeating  a 
superior  Spanish  force  and  driving  them  in  disgrace 
from  a  meditated  attack  on  Port  Royal  Island  and 
Edisto.  For  this  service  he  had  received  from  the 
men  he  had  then  commanded,  an  application  for  the  per- 
manent continuance  of  his  authority — an  application 
neither  declined  nor  accepted.  They  knew  him,  how- 
ever, only  as  Gabriel  Harrison,  a  man  singularly  com- 
pounded of  daring  bravery,  cool  reflection,  and  good- 
humoured  vivacity,  and  knowing  this,  they  cared  for 
little  more  information.  The  farther  mystery,  know- 
ing so  much,  was  criminal  in  the  eyes  of  the  pastor, 
who  had  better  reasons  than  the  volunteers  for  desiring 
a  greater  share  of  confidence ;  and  though  really, 
when  he  could  calmly  reflect  on  the  subject,  unin- 
fluenced by  his  prejudices  of  Puritanism,  pleased  with 
the  individual,  a  sense  of  what  he  considered  his  duty 
compelled  him  to  frown  upon  pretensions  so  perfectly 


140  THE  VEMASSEE. 

vague  yet  so  confidently  urged  as  those  of  his  visiter. 
The  course  of  the  dialogue  just  narrated  contributed 
still  more  to  disapprove  Harrison  in  the  old  man's 
estimation. 

"  My  daughter  wears  no  such  idle  vanities,  Master 
Harrison,"  said  he,  "  and  least  of  all  should  she  be 
expected  to  receive  them  from  hands  of  which  we 
know  nothing.*' 

"  Oh,  ho !"  exclaimed  Chorley,  now  in  his  turn  en- 
joying himself  at  the  expense  of  his  adversary — "  Oh, 
ho — sits  the  wind  in  that  quarter  of  your  sail,  young- 
master?" 

"  Well,  Hercules,  what  do  you  laugh  at  1 '  I  will  buy 
your  chain,  though  the  lady  may  or  may  not  take  it." 

"  You  buy  no  chain  of  me,  I  think,"  replied  the 
other — "  unless  you  buy  this,  which  I  would  have 
placed  myself,  as  a  free  gift,  upon  the  neck  of  the 
young  lady,  before  you  came." 

"  You  place  it  upon  Bessy's  neck, — indeed.  Why 
Bully-boy,  what  put  that  extravagant  notion  into  your 
head  ?"  exclaimed  Harrison  scornfully  aloud. 

"And  why  not,  master;  why  not,  I  pray  you?"  in- 
quired the  seaman,  at  the  same  time  not  seeking  to 
suppress  his  pique. 

"  Why  not — indeed — but  will  you  sell  your  chain  I" 

"  Ay,  that  will  I,  but  at  a  price  something  beyond 
your  mark.     What  will  you  give  now  ?" 

"  Put  like  a  trader — Granger  himself  could  not  have 
said  it  with  more  grace.  I  will  give "  at  that  mo- 
ment a  distinct  blast  of  the  horn,  reverberating  through 
the  hall,  announced  to  Harrison  the  success  and 
approach  of  his  party.  Fixing  his  eye  upon  the 
person  he  addressed,  and  turning  full  upon  him,  he 
replied — 

"  I  have  the  price  at  hand — a  fitting  price,  and  one 
that  you  seem  already  to  have  counted  on.  What  say 
you  then  to  my  black  fellow,  Hector — he  is  a  fine 
servant,  and  as  you  have  already  stowed  him  away 
safely  in  your  hold,  I  suppose  you  will  not  hesitate  to 
ask  for  him  three  hundred  pieces  in  the  Cuba  mar- 
ket— something  more  than  the  value  of  your  chain." 


THE    YEMASSEE.  141 

The  seaman  looked  not  less  astounded  than  did  the 
castor  and  his  family,  at  this  unlooked-for  charge. 

"  Where,  Master  Harrison,  did  you  say  ?"  inquired 
Matthews. 

"In  the  hold  of  this  worthy  fur  and  amber  trader's 
vessel — safe,  locked  up,  and  ready  for  the  Spaniard." 

"  It's  a  d d  lie,"  exclaimed  the  ferocious  sea- 
man, recovering  from  his  momentary  stupor. 

"Bah,  Hercules — see  you  fool  written  in  my  face, 
that  you  suppose  oaths  go  further  with  me  than  words  ? 
You  are  young,  my  'Hercules,  very  young,  to  think 
so," — then,  as  the  accused  person  proceeded  to  swear 
and  swagger,  Harrison  turned  to  the  ladies  who  had 
been  silent  and  astonished  auditors — "  Mrs.  Matthews, 
and  you  Bess, — take  your  chambers,  please  you,  for  a 
while.  This  business  may  be  unpleasant,  and  not 
suited  to  your  presence." 

"  But  Captain  Harrison — my  son,"  said  the  old  lady, 
affectionately. 

"  Gabriel, — dear  Gabriel,"  murmured  the  young  one. 

"  No  violence,  gentlemen, — for  heaven's  sake,  gen- 
tlemen," said  the  host. 

Harrison  kissed  his  hands  playfully  to  the  mother 
and  daughter,  as,  leading  them  to  an  inner  door,  he 
begged  them  to  have  no  apprehension. 

*'  There  is  no  cause  of  fear — be  not  alarmed.  Her- 
cules and  myself  would  only  determine  the  value  of 
Hector,  without  unnecessary  witnesses.  Go  now,  and 
fear  not." 

Having  dismissed  the  ladies,  Harrison  turned  imme- 
diately to  Chorley,  and  putting  his  hand  with  the 
utmost  deliberation  upon  his  shoulder,  thus  addressed 
him — 

"  Hark  ye,  Hercules,  you  can't  have  Hector  for 
nothing.  The  fellow's  in  prime  order — not  old,  and 
still  active — besides  he's  the  most  trust-worthy  slave  I 
own,  and  loves  me  like  a  brother.  It  goes  against  me 
to  part  with  him,  but  if  you  are  determined  to  have 
him,  you  must  give  me  an  equivalent." 

The  seaman,  with  many  oaths,  denied  having  him. 


142 


THE    YEMASSEE. 


«  Spare  your  breath,  man,"  said  the  other,  impet- 
uously—" I  know  you  have  him.  Your  swearing 
makes  none  of  your  lies  true,  and  you  waste  them  on 
me.     Give  up  Hector,  then " 

"  And  what  if  I  say  no  ?"  fiercely  replied  the  sea- 
man. 

"  Then  I  keep  Hercules  !"  was  the  response  ci 
Harrison. 

"We  shall  see  that,"  exclaimed  the  kidnapper— and 
drawing  his  cutlass,  he  approached  the  door  of  the 
cottage,  in  the  way  of  which  Harrison  stood  calmly. 
As  he  approached,  the  latter  drew  forth  a  pistol  from 
his  bosom,  coolly  cocked  and  presented  it  with  one 
hand,  while  with  the  other  raising  his  horn  to  his  lips 
he  replied  to  the  previous  signal.  In  another  moment 
the  door  was  thrown  open,  and  Granger,  with  two  of  the 
foresters,  appeared,  well  armed,  and  destroying  any 
thought  of  an  equal  struggle,  which  might  originally 
have  entered  the  mind  of  Chorley.  The  three  new 
comers  ranged  themselves  around  the  apartment,  so 
as  to  encircle  the  seaman. 

"Captain  Harrison,"  interposed  the  pastor— "this 

violence  in  my  house " 

"I  deeply  regret,  Mr.  Matthews,"  was  the  reply 
"  but  it  is  here  necessary." 

"It  is  taking  the  laws  into  your  own  hands,  sir." 
"I  know  it,  sir,  and  will  answer  to  the  laws  for 
taking  Hector  from  the  unlawful  hands  of  this  kid- 
napper. Stand  aside,  sir,  if  you  please,  while  we 
secure  our  prisoner.  Well,  Hercules,  are  you  ready 
for  terms  now  ?" 

Nothing  daunted,  Chorley  held  forth  defiance,  and 
with  a  fierce  oath,  lifting  his  cutlass,  he  resolutely  en- 
deavoured to  advance.  But  the  extension  of  his  arm 
for  the  employment  of  his  weapon,  with  his  enemies 
so  near,  was  of  itself  a  disadvantage.  The  sword  had 
scarcely  obtained  a  partial  elevation,  when  the  iron 
muscles  of  Dick  Grimstead  fixed  the  uplifted  arm  as 
firmly  as  if  the  vice  of  the  worthy  blacksmith  had 
taken  the  grasp  instead  of  his  fingers.     In  anothei 


THE    YEMASSEE.  143 

moment  he  was  tumbled  upon  his  back,  aid  spite  of 
every  effort  at  release,  the  huge  frame  of  Grimstead 
maintained  him  in  that  humiliating  position. 

"  You  see,  Hercules — obstinacy  won't  aerve  you 
here.  I  must  have  Hector,  or  I  shall  see  the  colour 
of  every  drop  of  blood  in  your  body.  I  swear  it,  of 
God's  surety.  Listen,  then — here  are  materials  for 
writing.  You  are  a  commander — you  shall  forward 
despatches  to  your  men  for  the  delivery  of  my  snow- 
ball.    Hector  I  must  have." 

"  I  will  write  nothing — my  men  are  in  the  boat, — 
they  will  soon  be  upon  you,  and  by  all  the  devils,  I  will 
mark  you  for  this." 

"  Give  up  your  hope,  Bully-boy, — and  be  less  obdu- 
rate. I  have  taken  care  to  secure  your  men  and  boat, 
as  comfortably  as  yourself.  You  shall  see  that  I 
speak  truth."  Winding  his  horn  as  he  spoke,  the  rest 
of  the  foresters  appeared  under  the  conduct  of  Nichols, 
who,  strange  to  say,  was  now  the  most  active  conspira- 
tor seemingly  of  the  party ;  and  with  them  the  two 
seamen  well  secured  by  cords.  Ushering  his  prison- 
ers forward,  the  worthy  Constantine  etc.,  seeing  Har- 
rison about  to  speak,  hastily  interrupted  him — 

"  The  great  object  of  action,  captain — the  great 
object  of  human  action — Mr.  Matthews,  I  am  your 
servant — the  great  object,  Captain  Harrison,  of  human 
action,  as  I  have  said  before,  is,  or  should  be,  the  pur- 
suit of  human  happiness.  The  great  aim  of  human 
study  is  properly  to  determine  upon  the  true  nature  ot 
human  action.  Human  reason  being  the  only  mode, 
in  the  exercise  of  which,  we  can  possibly  arrive  at 
the  various  courses  which  human  action  is  to  take,  it 
follows,  in  direct  sequence,  that  the  Supreme  Arbiter 
in  matters  of  moral,  or  I  should  rather  say  human  pro- 
priety, is  the  universal  reason — " 

"  Quod  erat  demonstrandum,"  gravely  interrupted 
Harrison. 

"  Your  approval  is  grateful,  Captain  Harrison — very 
grateful,  sir — but  I  beg  that  you  will  not  interrupt  me." 

Harrison  bowed,  and  the  doctor  proceeded : — 


144  THE    YEMASSEE, 

"  Referring  to  just  principles,  and  the  true  standard^ 
which, — Master  Matthews  this  may  be  of  moment  to 
you,  and  I  beg  your  particular  attention — I  hold  to  be 
human  reason, — for  the  government,  the  wellbeing  of 
human  society,  I  have  determined — being  thereto  in- 
duced simply  by  a  consideration  of  the  good  of  the 
people — to  lead  them  forth,  for  the  captivity  of  these 
evil-minded  men,  who,  without  the  fear  of  God  in  their 
eyes,  and  instigated  by  the  devil,  have  feloniously  kid- 
napped and  entrapped  and  are  about  to  carry  away  one 
of  the  lawful  subjects  of  our  king,  whom  Fate  pre- 
serve.— I  say  subject,  for  though  it  does  not  appear 
that  black  has  ever  been  employed,  as  a  colour  dis- 
tinguishing the  subjects  of  our  master,  the  King  of 
Great  Britain,  yet,  as  subject  to  his  will,  and  the  con- 
trol of  his  subjects,  and  more  than  all,  as  speaking  in 
the  proper  form  of  the  English  language,  a  little  inter- 
polated here  and  there,  it  may  be,  with  a  foreign 
coating  or  accent — which  it  may  be  well  to  recognise 
as  legitimately  forming  a  feature  of  the  said  language, 
which  by  all  writers  is  held  to  be  of  a  compound  sub- 
stance, not  unlike,  morally  speaking,  the  sort  of  rock, 
which  the  geologists  designate  as  pudding-stone — 
pudding  being  a  preparation  oddly  and  heavily  com- 
pounded— and  to  speak  professionally,  indigestibly  com- 
pounded— I  say,  then,  and  I  call  you,  our  pastor,  and 
you,  Captain  Harrison,  and,  I  say,  Richard  Grimstead, 
albeit  you  are  not  of  a  craft  or  profession  which  I  may 
venture  to  style  liberal,  you  too  may  be  a  witness, — 
and  you  will  all  of  you  here  assembled  take  upon  you 
to  witness  for  me,  that  in  leading  forth  these  brave 
men  to  the  assault  upon  and  captivity  of  these  nefa- 
rious kidnappers,  rescue  or  no  rescue,  at  this  moment 
my  prisoners,  that,  from  the  iirst  and  immutable  prin- 
ciples which  I  have  laid  down,  I  could  have  been 
governed  only  by  a  patriotic  desire  for  the  good  of  the 
people.  For,  as  it  is  plain  that  the  man  who  kid- 
naps a  subject  has  clearly  none  of  those  moral  re- 
straints which  should  keep  him  from  kidnapping  sub- 
jects, and  as  it  is  equally  clear  that  subjects  should 


THE    VEMASSEE.  145 

not  be  liable  to  abduction  or  kidnapping,  so  does  it 
follow,  as  a  direct  sequence,  that  the  duty  of  the  good 
citizen  is  to  prevent  such  nefarious  practices.  I  feai 
not  now  the  investigation  of  the  people,  for  having 
been  governed  in  what  I  have  done  simply  by  a  re- 
gard for  their  good  and  safety,  I  yield  me  to  their  judg- 
ment, satisfied  of  justice,  yet  not  shrinking,  in  their 
cause,  from  the  martyrdom  which  they  sometimes 
inflict." 

The  speaker  paused,  breathless,  and  looked  round 
very  complacently  upon  the  assembly — the  persons 
of  which,  his  speech  had  variously  affected.  Some 
laughed,  knowing  the  man  ;  but  one  or  two  looked  pro- 
found, and  of  these,  at  a  future  day,  he  had  secured  the 
suffrages.  Harrison  suffered  nothing  of  risibility  to 
appear  upon  his  features,  composing  the  muscles  of 
which,  he  turned  to  the  patriot, — 

"  Gravely  and  conclusively  argued,  doctor,  and  with 
propriety,  for  the  responsibility  was  a  weighty  one  of 
this  bold  measure,  which  your  regard  for  popular  free- 
dom has  persuaded  you  to  adopt.  I  did  not  myself 
think  that  so  much  could  be  said  in  favour  of  the 
proceeding;  the  benefits  of  which  we  shall  now  pro- 
ceed to  reap.  And  now,  Hercules,"  he  continued,  ad- 
dressing the  still  prostrate  seaman,  "  you  see  the  case 
is  hopeless,  and  there  is  but  one  way  of  effecting  your 
liberty.  Write — here  are  the  materials  ;  command 
that  Hector  be  restored  without  stroke  or  strife,  for  of 
God's  surety,  every  touch  of  the  whip  upon  the  back 
of  my  slave,  shall  call  for  a  corresponding  dozen  upon 
your  own.  Your  seamen  shall  bear  the  despatch,  and 
they  shall  return  with  the  negro.  I  shall  place  a  watch, 
and  if  more  than  these  leave  the  vessel,  it  will  be 
a  signal  which  shall  sound  your  death-warrant,  for 
that  moment,  of  God's  surety,  shall  you  hang.  Let 
him  rise,  Grimstead,  but  keep  his  sword,  and  toma- 
hawk him  if  he  stir." 

Chorley  saw  that  the  case  was  hopeless  on  other 
terms,  and  wrote  as  he  was  required.     Sullenly  affix- 

Vol.  I.  13 


146  THE    YEMASSEE. 

ing  the  signature,  he  handed  it  fiercely  to  Harrison, 
who  coolly  read  over  its  contents. 

"  So  your  name  is  really  not  Hercules,  after  all," 
he  spoke  with  his  usual  careless  manner — "but  Chor- 
ley?" 

"  Is  it  enough  ?"  sullenly  asked  the  seaman. 

"  Ay,  Bully -boy,  if  your  men  obey  it.  I  shall  only 
take  the  liberty  of  putting  a  small  addition  to  the 
paper,  apprizing  them  of  the  prospect  in  reserve  for 
yourself,  if  they  steer  awkwardly.  A  little  hint  to 
them,"  speaking  as  he  wrote,  "  of  new  arms  for  their 
captain — swinging  bough,  rope  pendant, — and  so  forth." 

In  an  hour  and  the  men  returned,  bringing  the  bone 
of  contention,  the  now  half  frantic  Hector,  along  with 
them-  Chorley  was  instantly  released,  and  swearing 
vengeance  for  the  indignity  which  he  had  suffered, 
immediately  took  his  way  to  the  vessel,  followed  by 
his  men-  Unarmed,  he  could  do  nothing  with  the 
stronger  force  of  Harrison,  but  his  fierce  spirit  only 
determined  upon  a  reckoning  doubly  terrible  from  the 
present  restraint  upon  it. 

"  Keep  cool,  Hercules ;  this  attempt  to  kidnap  our 
slaves  will  tell  hardly  against  you  when  going  round 
Port  Royal  Island.  The  battery  there  may  make 
your  passage  uncomfortable." 

"  You  shall  suffer  for  this,  young  one,  or  my  name's 
not " 

"  Hercules  !  well,  well — see  that  you  keep  a  close 
reckoning,  for  I  am  not  so  sure  that  Richard  Chorley 
is  not  as  great  a  sea-shark  as  Steed  Bonnett  himself." 

The  seaman  started  fiercely,  as  the  speaker  thus 
compared  him  with  one  of  the  most  notorious  pirates 
of  the  time  and  region,  but  a  sense  of  caution  re- 
strained him  from  any  more  decided  expression  of  his 
anger.  With  a  word  of  parting  to  the  pastor,  and  a 
sullen  repetition  of  a  general  threat  to  the  rest,  he 
was  soon  in  his  boat  and  upon  the  way  to  his  vessel. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  147 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"  Have  the  keen  eye  awake — sleep  not,  but  hold 
A  perilous  watch  to-night.    There  is  an  hour 
Shall  come,  will  try  the  stoutest  of  ye  all." 

"I. say  it  again,  Captain  Harrison — fortunate  is  it 
for  mankind,  fortunate  and  thrice  happy — Mr.  Matthews 
you  will  be  pleased  to  respond  to  the  sentiment — thrice 
fortunate,  I  say,  is  it  for  mankind — Richard  Grimstead, 
this  idea  is  one  highly  important  to  your  class,  and  you 
will  give  it  every  attention — thrice  fortunate  for  man- 
kind that  there  are  some  spirits  in  the  world,  some 
noble  spirits,  whom  no  fear,  no  danger,  not  even  the 
dread  of  death,  can  discourage  or  deter  in  theii  labours 
for  the  good  of  the  people.  Who  nobly  array  them- 
selves against  injustice,  who  lift  up  the  banners  of 
truth,  and,  filled  to  overflowing  with  the  love  of  their 
fellows,  who  yield  up  nothing  of  man's  right  to  exac- 
tion and  tyranny,  but,  shouting  their  defiance  to  the 
last,  fear  not  to  embrace  the  stake  of  martyrdom  in  the 
perpetuation  of  an  immortal  principle.  Yes,  captain — 
what, — will  you  not  hear  ?— -Mr.  Matthews,  venerable 
sir — Master  Grayson,  Master  Walter  Grayson,  I  say — 
and  you,  Richard  Grimstead — will  nobody  hear  ? — thus 
it  is, — the  blind  and  insensible  mass  ! — they  take  the 
safety  and  the  service,  but  forget  the  benefactor.  It  is 
enough  to  make  the  patriot  renounce  his  nature,  and 
leave  them  to  their  fate." 

"  You  had  better  go  now,  doctor,  and  see  poor  Mur- 
ray, instead  of  standing  here  making  speeches  about 
nothing.  Talk  of  the  good  of  the  people,  indeed,  and 
leave  the  sick  man  without  physic  till  this  time  of  day." 

"  You  are  right  in  that,  Master  Grayson,  though 
scarcely  respectful.  It  concerns  the  popular  welfare, 
certainly,  that  men  should  not  fall  victims  to  disease ; 


148  THE    YEMASSEE. 

but  you  must  understand,  Master  Grayson,  that  even 
to  this  broad  and  general  principle,  there  are  some  ob- 
vious exceptions.  One  may  and  must,  now  and  then, 
be  sacrificed  for  the  good  of  many — though  to  confess 
a  truth,  this  can  scarcely  be  an  admitted  principle,  if 
such  a  sacrifice  may  tend  in  any  way  to  affect  the  par- 
amount question  of  the  soul's  immortal  peace  or  pain. 
I  have  strong  doubts  whether  a  man  should  be  hung  at 
all.  For,  if  it  happen  that  he  be  a  bad  man,  to  hang 
him  is  to  precipitate  him  into  that  awful  abiding  place, 
to  which  each  successive  generation  has  contributed  a 
new  assortment  of  dooms  and  demons  ;  and  if  he  should 
have  seen  the  error  of  his  ways,  and  repented,  he 
ceases  to  be  a  bad  man,  and  should  not  be  hung  at  all. 
But,  poor  Murray,  as  you  remind  me,  ought  to  be 
physicked — these  cursed  fevers  hang  on  a  man,  as  that 
sooty-lipped  fellow  Grimstead  says,  in  a  speech,  un- 
couth as  himself,  like  '  death  to  a  dead  negro.'  The 
only  God  to  be  worshipped  in  this  region,  take  my 
word  for  it,  Master  Grayson,  is  that  heathen  god,  Mer- 
cury. He  is  the  true  friend  of  the  people,  and  as  such 
I  worship  him.  Captain  Harrison — the  man  is  deaf. — 
Ah,  Mr.  Matthews — deaf,  too !  Farewell,  Master 
Grayson,  or  do  you  ride  towards  Gibbons'  ?  He  turns 
a  deaf  ear  also.  Human  nature — human  nature  !  I 
do  hate  to  ride  by  myself." 

And  with  these  words,  in  obvious  dissatisfaction — for 
Doctor  Constantine  Maximilian  Nichols  stood  alone — 
he  left  the  house  and  moved  off  to  the  wood  where  his 
little  tacky  stood  in  waiting.  By  this  time  the  forest- 
ers generally  had  also  left  the  old  pastor's  cottage. 
Giving  them  instructions  to  meet  him  at  the  Block 
House,  Harrison  alone  lingered  behind  with  the  sld 
Puritan,  to  whom  the  preceding  events  had  somehow 
or  other  been  productive  of  much  sore  disquietude. 
He  had  shown  his  disapprobation  at  various  stages  of 
their  occurrence  ;  and  even  now,  when  the  restoration 
of  Hector,  more  than  ever,  showed  the  propriety,  or 
policy  at  least,  of  the  course  which  had  been  pursued, 
the  old  man  seemed  still  to  maintain  a  decided  hos 


THE    YEMASSEE.  149 

tility  to  the  steps  which  Harrison  had  taken  for  the 
recovery  of  his  property.  Having  once  determined 
against  the  individual  himself,  the  pastor  was  one  of 
those  dogged  and  self-satisfied  persons  who  can  never 
bring  themselves  to  the  dismissal  of  a  prejudice  ;  who 
never  permit  themselves  to  approve  of  any  thing  done 
by  the  obnoxious  person,  and  who  studiously  seek,  in 
reference  to  him,  every  possible  occasion  for  discon- 
tent and  censure.  In  such  a  mood  he  addressed  Har- 
rison when  the  rest  had  departed  : — 

"  This  violence,  Master  Harrison,"  said  he,  "  might 
do  in  a  condition  of  war  and  civil  commotion  ;  but  while 
there  are  laws  for  the  protection  of  the  people  and  for 
the  punishment  of  the  aggressor,  the  resort  to  measures 
like  that  which  I  have  this  day  witnessed,  I  hold  to  be 
highly  indecorous  and  criminal." 

"  Mr.  Matthews,  you  talk  of  laws,  as  if  that  pirate 
fellow  could  be  brought  to  justice  by  a  sheriff." 
"  And  why  should  he  not,  Master  Harrison  ?" 
".  My  good  sir,  for  the  very  best  reason  in  the  world, 
if  you  will  but  open  your  eyes,  and  take  off  some  few 
of  the  scales  which  you  delight  to  wear.  Because, 
in  that  vessel,  carrying  guns  and  men  enough  to  serve 
them,  he  could  safely  bid  defiance  to  all  the  sheriffs 
you  could  muster.  Let  the  wind  but  serve,  and  he 
could  be  off,  carrying  you  along  with  him  if  he  so 
thought  proper,  and  at  this  moment  nothing  we  could 
do  could  stop  him.  There  is  no  defending  Port  Royal, 
and  that  is  its  misfortune.  You  must  always  call  the 
force  from  Charlestown  which  could  do  so,  and  at  this 
time  there  is  not  a  single  armed  vessel  in  that  port. 
No  sir — nothing  but  maneuvering  now  for  that  fellow, 
and  we  must  manage  still  more  adroitly  before  we  get 
our  own  terms  out  of  him." 

"  Why  sir — where's  the  battery  at  Port  Royal  ?•'•' 
"  Pshaw,  Mr.  Matthews — a  mere  fly  in  the  face  of 
he  wind.  The  battery  at  Port  Royal,  indeed,  which 
the  Spaniards  have  twice  already  taken  at  noonday, 
and  which  they  would  have  tumbled  into  nothing,  but 
for  Captain  Godfrey  and  myself,  as  you  should  remem- 
13* 


150  THE    YUKASSEE. 

ber,  for  your  own  chance  and  that  of  your  family  were 
narrow  enough.  A  good  wind,  sir,  would  carry  this 
Blifustier  beyond  the  fort  before  three  guns  could  be 
brought  to  bear  upon  her." 

"Well,  Master  Harrison,  even  if  this  be  the  case,  I 
should  rather  the  guilty  should  escape  than  that  self- 
constituted  judges  should  take  into  their  own  hands  the 
administration  of  justice  and  the  law." 

"  Indeed,  Master  Pastor,  but  you  are  too  merciful  by 
half;  and  Hector,  if  he  heard  you  now,  would  have 
few  thanks  for  a  charity,  which  would  pack  him  off  to 
the  Cuba  plantations  for  the  benefit  of  your  bully-boy 
acquaintance.  No,  no.  I  shall  always  hold  and  re- 
cover my  property  by  the  strong  arm,  when  other 
means  are  wanting." 

"  And  pray,  sir,  what  security  have  the  people,  that 
you,  unknown  to  them  as  you  are,  may  not  employ  the 
same  arm  to  do  them  injustice,  while  proposing  justice 
for  yourself?" 

"  That  is  what  Nichols  would  call  the  popular  argu- 
ment, and  for  which  he  would  give  you  thanks,  while 
using  it  against  you.  But,  in  truth,  this  is  the  coil, 
and  amounts  to  neither  more  nor  less  than  this,  that  all 
power  is  subject  to  abuse.  I  do  not  contend  for  the 
regular  practice  of  that  which  I  only  employ  in  a  last 
necessity.  But,  of  this  enough, — I  am  in  no  mood  for 
hair  splitting  and  arguing  about  trifling  irregularities, 
when  the  chance  is  that  there  are  far  more  seriou' 
difficulties  before  us.  Hear  me,  then,  Mr.  Matthew: 
on  a  subject  more  important  to  yourself.  You  are 
here,  residing  on  the  borders  of  a  savage  nation,  with 
an  interest  scarcely  worth  your  consideration,  and  cer- 
tainly no  engrossing  object.  Your  purpose  is  the  good 
of  those  around  you,  and  with  that  object  you  suffer 
privations  here,  to  which  your  family  are  not  much 
accustomed.  I  have  an  interest  in  your  welfare, 
and—" 

The  lips  of  the  pastor  curled  contemptuously  into  a 
smile.     Harrison  proceeded : 

"  I  understand  that  expression,  sir ;  and,  contenting 


THE    YEMASSEE.  151 

myself  with  referring  you  for  a  commentary  upon  it  to 
the  sacred  profession  of  your  pursuit,  I  freely  forgive 
it."  The  pastor's  cheek  grew  crimson,  while  the 
other  continued : — 

"  You  are  here,  sir,  as  I  have  said,  upon  the  Indian 
borders.  There  is  little  real  affinity  between  you. 
The  entire  white  population  thus  situated,  and  stretch- 
ing for  thirty  miles  towards  the  coast  in  this  direction, 
does  not  exceed  nine  hundred,  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren. You  live  remotely  from  each  other — there  is 
but  little  concert  between  you,  and,  bating  an  occa- 
sional musket,  or  sword,  the  hatchet  and  the  knife  are 
the  only  weapons  which  your  houses  generally  furnish. 
The  Indians  are  fretful  and  becoming  insolent — " 

"  Let  me  interrupt  you,  Master  Harrison.  I  believe 
not  that ;  and  so  far  as  my  experience  goes,  the  Ye- 
massees  were  never  more  peaceable  than  at  this  mo- 
ment." 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,  if  I  say,  you  know  little  of  the  In- 
dians, and  are  quite  too  guileless  yourself  to  compre- 
hend the  least  portion  of  their  deceitful  character. 
Are  you  aware,  sir,  of  the  insurrection  which  took 
place  in  Pocota-ligo  last  night?" 

"  I  am  not — what  insurrection  ?" 

"The  chiefs,  deposed  by  the  people,  and  by  this 
time  probably  destroyed  for  selling  their  lands  yester- 
day to  the  commissioners." 

"  Ah  !  I  could  have  said  the  why  and  the  where- 
fore, without  your  speech.  This  but  proves,  Captain 
Harrison,  that  we  may,  if  we  please,  provoke  them  by 
our  persecutions  into  insurrections.  Why  do  we  thus 
seek  to  rob  them  of  their  lands — when,  oh  !  Father  of 
mercies,  when  shall  there  be  but  one  flock  of  all 
classes  and  colours,  all  tribes  and  nations,  of  thy  peo* 
pie,  and  thy  blessed  Son,  our  Saviour,  the  good  and 
guiding  shepherd  thereof?" 

"  The  prayer  is  a  just  one,  and  the  blessing  desira- 
ble ;  but,  while  I  concur  with  your  sentiment,  I  am  not 
willing  to  agree  with  you  that  our  desire  to  procure 
their  lands  is  at  all  inconsistent  with  the  prayer.     Un- 


152  THE    YEMASSEE. 

til  they  shall  adopt  our  pursuits,  or  we  theirs,  we  can 
never  form  the  one  community  for  which  your  prayer 
is  sent  up  ;  and  so  long  as  the  hunting  lands  are  abun- 
dant, the  seductions  of  that  mode  of  life  will  always 
baffle  the  approach  of  civilization  among  the  Indians. 
But  this  is  not  the  matter  between  us  now.  Your 
smile  of  contempt,  just  now,  when  I  spoke  of  my  re- 
gard for  your  family,  does  not  discourage  me  from  re- 
peating the  profession.  I  esteem  your  family,  and  a 
yet  stronger  sentiment  attaches  me  to  one  of  its  mem- 
bers. Feeling  thus  towards  you  and  it,  and  convinced, 
as  I  am,  that  there  is  danger  at  hand  from  the  Indians, 
I  entreat  that  you  will  remove  at  once  into  a  close 
neighbourhood  with  our  people.  Go  to  Port  Royal, 
where  the  means  of  escape  are  greater  to  Charles- 
town, — or,  why  not  go  to  Charlestown  itself?" 

"  And  see  your  family,"  coolly  spoke  the  pastor. 

"  It  will  be  yours  before  long,  and  you  will  probably 
then  know  them,"  said  the  other  with  equal  coolness. 
"  But  let  not  this  matter  affect  the  conviction  in  your 
mind,  which  is  strong  in  mine.  There  is  a  near  dan- 
ger to  be  apprehended  from  the  Indians." 

"I  apprehend  none,  Captain  Harrison.  The  In- 
dians have  always  borne  themselves  peaceably  towards 
me  and  towards  all  the  settlers — towards  all  who  have 
carried  them  the  words  of  peace.  To  me  they  have 
been  more.  They  have  listened  patiently  to  my  teach- 
ings, and  the  eyes  of  some  of  them,  under  the  blessed  in- 
fluence of  the  Saviour,  have  been  opened  to  the  light." 

"  Be  not  deceived,  Mr.  Matthews.  The  Indian  up- 
on whom  you  would  most  rely,  would  be  the  very  first 
to  carry  your  scalp  as  a  choice  trimming  for  his  moc- 
quasin.  Be  advised,  sir — I  know  more  of  this  people 
than  yourself.  I  know  what  they  are  when  excited 
and  aroused — deception  with  them  is  the  legitimate 
morality  of  a  true  warrior.  Nor  will  they,  when  once 
at  war,  discriminate  between  the  good  neighbour,  like 
yourself,  and  the  wild  borderer  who  encroaches  upon 
their  hunting  grounds  and  carries  off  their  spoil." 

"  I  fear  not,  sir — I  know  all  the  chiefs,  and  feel  just 


THE    VEMASSEE.  153 

as  secure  here,  guarded  by  the  watchful  Providence, 
as  I  possibly  could  do,  in  the  crowded  city,  fenced  in 
by  mightiest  walls." 

"  This  confidence  is  rashness,  sir,  since  it  rejects  a 
precaution  which  can  do  no  harm,  and  offers  but  little 
inconvenience.  Where  is  the  necessity  for  your  re- 
maining here,  where  there  are  so  little  to  attract,  and 
so  few  ties  to  bind  ?  Leave  the  spot,  sir,  at  least  until 
the  storm  is  over-blown  which  I  now  see  impending." 

"  You  are  prophetic,  Master  Harrison,  but  as  I  see 
no  storm  impending,  you  will  suffer  me  to  remain. 
You  seem  also  to  forget  that  in  remaining  in  this  re- 
gion, which  you  say  has  few  ties  for  me  and  mine,  I 
am  complying  with  a  solemn  duty,  undertaken  in  coo* 
deliberation,  and  which  I  would  not,  if  I  could,  avoid. 
I  am  here,  as  you  know,  the  agent  of  a  noble  Christian 
charity  of  England,  as  a  missionary  to  the  heathen." 

"  And  nothing  inconsistent  with  your  duty  to  leave 
the  spot  for  a  season,  in  which,  in  the  event  of  a  war, 
you  could  pursue  no  such  mission.  Leave  it  for  a 
season,  only." 

"  Master  Harrison,  once  for  all,  permit  me  to  choose 
for  myself,  not  only  where  to  live,  but  who  shall  be 
my  adviser  and  companion.  I  owe  you  thanks  for 
your  professed  interest  in  me  and  mine  ;  but  it  seems 
to  me  there  is  but  little  delicacy  in  thus  giving  us  your 
presence,  when  my  thoughts  on  the  subject  of  my  daugh- 
ter and  your  claim,  have  been  so  clearly  expressed. 
The  violence  of  your  course  to-day,  sir,  let  me  add,  is 
enough  to  strengthen  my  previous  determination  on 
that  subject." 

"Your  determination,  Mr.  Matthews,  seems  fixed, 
indeed,  to  be  wrong-headed  and  obstinate.  You  have 
dwelt  greatly  upon  my  violence  to  this  sea-bear  ;  yet, 
or -I  greatly  mistake  my  man,  you  will  come  to  wish  it 
had  been  greater.  But  ask  your  own  good  sense 
whether  that  violence  exceeded  in  degree  the  amount 
necessary  to  secure  the  restoration  of  my  slave  ?  I 
did  only  what  I  thought  essential  to  that  end,  though 
something  provoked  to  more.     But  this  aside — if  you 


154  THE    YEMASSEE. 

will  not  hear  counsel,  and  determine  to  remain  in  this 
place,  at  least  let  me  implore  you  to  observe  every 
precaution,  and  be  ready  to  resort  to  the  Block  House 
with  the  first  alarm.  Be  ready  in  your  defence,  and 
keep  a  careful  watch.  Let  your  nightbolts  be  well 
shot.  I  too,  sir,  will  be  something  watchful  for  you. 
I  cannot  think  of  letting  you  sacrifice,  by  your  ill- 
judged  obstinacy,  one,  dear  enough  to  me,  at  least,  to 
make  me  bear  with  the  discourtesies  which  come  with 
such  an  ill  grace  from  her  sire." 

Thus  speaking,  Harrison  left  the  cottage  abruptly, 
leaving  the  old  gentleman,  standing,  somewhat  dis- 
satisfied with  his  own  conduct,  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor. 


CHAPTER  XVni. 

"  Thou  killest  me  with  a  word  when  thou  dost  say 
She  loves  him.  Better  thou  hadst  slain  me  first ; 
Thou  hadst  not  half  so  wrong'd  me  then  as  now, 
For  now,  J  live  to  perish." 

Hector  met  his  master  at  the  door  of  the  cottage 
with  tidings  from  the  daughter  which  somewhat  com- 
pensated for  the  harsh  treatment  of  the  father.  She 
had  consented  to  their  meeting  that  afternoon  in  the 
old  grove  of  oaks,  well  known  even  to  this  day  in  that 
neighbourhood,  for  its  depth  and  beauty  of  shadow,  and 
its  sweet  fitness  for  all  the  purposes  of  love.  Some- 
what more  satisfied,  therefore,  he  took  his  way  to  the 
Block  House,  where  the  foresters  awaited  him.    . 

They  met  in  consultation,  and  the  duties  before 
Harrison  were  manifold.  He  told  the  party  around 
him  all  that  it  was  necessary  they  should  know,  in 
order  to  ensure  proper  precautions  ;  and  having  per- 
suaded them  of  the  necessity  of  this  labour,  he  found 
no  difficulty  in  procuring  their  aid  in  putting  the  Block 


THE    YEMASSEE.  155 

House  mbetter  trim  for  the  reception  of  the  enemy.  To 
do  this,  they  went  over  the  fabric  together.  The  pickets 
forming  an  area  or  yard  on  two  of  its  sides,  having  been 
made  of  the  resinous  pine  of  the  country,  were  generally 
in  good  preservation.  The  gate  securing  the  entrance 
was  gone,  however,  and  called  for  immediate  attention. 
The  door  of  the  Block  House  itself- — for  it  had  but 
one — had  also  been  taken  away,  and  the  necessity  was 
equally  great  of  its  restoration.  The  lower  story  of 
the  fortress  consisted  of  but  a  single  apartment,  in 
which  no  repairs  were  needed.  The  upper  story  was 
divided  into  two  rooms,  and  reached  by  a  ladder — a 
single  ladder  serving  both  divisions,  and  transferable 
to  each  place  of  access  when  their  ascent  was  de- 
sirable. One  of  these  apartments,  built  more  securely 
than  the  other,  and  pierced  with  a  single  small  window, 
had  been  meant  as  the  retreat  of  the  women  and  chil- 
dren, and  was  now  in  the  possession  of  Granger,  the 
trader,  and  his  wife.  His  small  stock  in  trade,  his 
furs,  blankets,  knives,  beads,  hatchets,  etc.,  were 
strewn  confusedly  over  the  clapboard  floor.  These 
were  the  articles  most  wanted  by  the  Indians.  Fire- 
arms it  had  been  the  policy  of  the  English  to  keep 
from  them  as  much  as  possible.  Still,  the  intercourse 
between  them  had  been  such  that  this  desire  was  not 
always  practicable.  Many  of  their  principal  persons 
had  contrived  to  procure  them,  either  from  the  English 
tradesmen  themselves,  or  from  the  Spaniards  of  St. 
Augustine,  with  whom  of  late  the  Yemassees  had 
grown  exceedingly  intimate ;  and  though,  from  their 
infrequent  use,  not  perfectly  masters  of  the  weapon, 
they  were  still  sufficiently  familiar  with  it  to  in- 
crease the  odds  already  in  their  favour  on  the  score 
of  numbers.  Apart  from  this,  the  musket  is  but  little 
if  any  thing  superior  to  the  bow  and  arrow  in  the 
American  forests.  It  inspires  with  more  terror,  and  is 
therefore  more  useful ;  but  it  is  not  a  whit  more  fatal. 
Once  discharged,  the  musket  is  of  little  avail.  The 
Indian  then  rushes  forward,  and  the  bayonet  becomes 
innocuous,   for  the   striking   and    sure    distance   for 


156  THE    YEMASSEE. 

the  tomahawk  in  his  hands  is  beyond  the  reach  of  its 
thrust.  The  tomahawk,  with  little  practice,  in  any 
hand,  can  inflict  a  severe  if  not  a  fatal  wound  at  twelve 
paces,  and  beyond  ordinary  pistol  certainty.  As  long 
as  his  quiver  lasts — say  twelve  or  fifteen  arrows — 
the  bow  in  the  close  woods  is  superior  to  the  musket 
in  the  grasp  of  an  Indian,  requiring  only  the  little  time 
necessary  after  the  discharge  of  one,  in  fixing  another 
arrow  upon  the  elastic  sinew.  The  musket  too,  in  the 
hands  of  the  Englishman,  and  according  to  his  practice, 
is  a  sightless  weapon.  He  fires  in  lin«,  and  without 
aim.  The  Anglo-American,  therefore,  has  generally 
adopted  the  rifle.  The  eye  of  the  Indian  regulates 
every  shaft  from  his  bow  with  a  rapidity  given  him  by 
repeated  and  hourly  practice  from  his  childhood,  and 
he  learns  to  take  the  same  aim  at  his  enemy  which  he 
would  take  at  the  smallest  bird  among  his  forests. 
But  to  return. 

Harrison,  with  Grimstead,  the  smith,  Grayson, 
Granger,  and  the  rest,  looked  carefully  to  all  the  defen- 
ces of  the  fortress,  employing  them  generally  in  the 
repairs  considered  necessary,  nor  withholding  his  own 
efforts  in  restoring  the  broken  timber  or  the  maimed 
shutter.  The  tools  of  the  carpenter  were  as  familiar 
as  the  weapon  of  warfare  to  the  hand  of  the  American 
woodsman,  and  the  aid  of  the  smith  soon  put  things  in 
train  for  a  stout  defence  of  the  fabric,  in  the  event  of 
any  necessity.  This  having  been  done,  the  whole 
party  assembled  in  Granger's  apartment  to  partake  of 
the  frugal  meal  which  the  hands  of  the  trader's  wife 
had  prepared  for  them.  We  have  seen  the  bold  step 
taken  by  this  woman  in  delivering  up  to  the  Yemas- 
sees  the  treaty  which  conveyed  their  lands  to  the 
Carolinians,  by  which,  though  she  had  risked  the  dis- 
pleasure of  Sir  Edmund  Bellinger,  whom  the  point 
of  honour  would  have  rendered  obstinate,  she  had 
certainly  saved  the  lives  of  the  party.  She  was  a 
tall,  masculine,  and  well-made  woman ;  of  a  san- 
guine complexion,  with  deeply  sunken,  dark  eyes, 
hair  black  as  a  coal  and  cut  short  like  that  of  a  man. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  157 

There  was  a  stern  something  in  her  glance  which  re- 
pelled ;  and  though  gentle  and  even  humble  in  her 
usual  speech,  there  were  moments  when  her  tone  was 
that  of  reckless  defiance,  and  when  her  manner  was 
any  thing  but  conciliatory.  Her  look  was  always  grave, 
even  sombre,  and  no  one  saw  her  smile.  She  thus 
preserved  her  own  and  commanded  the  respect  of 
others,  in  a  sphere  of  life  to  which  respect,  or  in  very 
moderate  degree,  is  not  often  conceded  ;  and  though 
now  she  did  not  sit  at  the  board  upon  which  the  hum- 
ble meal  had  been  placed,  her  presence  restrained 
the  idle  remark  which  the  wild  life  of  most  of  those 
assembled  around  it,  would  be  well  apt  to  instigate  and 
occasion.  At  dinner  Hector  was  examined  as  to  his 
detention  on  board  of  the  schooner.  He  told  the 
story  of  his  capture  as  already  given,  and  though 
the  poor  fellow  had  in  reality  heard  nothing,  or  very 
little,  of  the  conversation  between  the  sailor  and  the 
Indians,  yet  the  clear  narrative  which  he  gave,  descrip- 
tive of  the  free  intercourse  between  the  parties,  and 
the  presence  of  the  belt  of  wampum,  were  proofs  strong 
as  holy  writ,  conclusive  to  the  mind  of  Harrison  of 
the  suspicion  he  had  already  entertained. 

"  And  what  of  the  schooner — what  did  you  see 
there,  Hector  ?" 

"  Gun,  mosser — big  gun,  little  gun — long  sword 
little  sword,  and  hatchets  plenty  for  Injins." 

"  What  sort  of  men  ?" 

"  Ebery  sort,  mosser,  English,  Dutch,  French, 
Spanish, — ugly  little  men  Avid  big  whiskers,  and  long 
black  hair,  and  face  nebber  see  water." 

This  was  information  enough,  and  with  some  further 
deliberation  the  parties  separated,  each  in  the  perform- 
ance of  some  duty  which  by  previous  arrangement  had 
been  assigned  him.  An  hour  after  the  separation,  and 
Walter  Grayson  arrived  at  the  landing  upon  the  river, 
a  few  hundred  yards  from  the  cottage  where  he  lived, 
in  time  to  see  his  brother,  who  was  just  about  to  put 
off  with  several  bundles  of  skins  in  a  small  boat  towards 
the  vessel  of  the  supposed  Indian  trader.  The  manner 
I.  14 


158  THE    YEMASSEE. 

of  the  latter  was  cold,  and  his  tone  rather  stern  ant. 
ungracious, 

"  I  have  waited  for  you  some  hours,  Walter  Grayson, 
said  he,  standing  upon  the  banks,  and  throwing  a  bundles 
into  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 

"  I  could  come  no  sooner,  Hugh ;  I  have  been  busy 
in  assisting  the  captain." 

"  The  captain — will  you  never  be  a  freeman,  Wal* 
ter — will  you  always  be  a  water-carrier  for  a  mas- 
ter? Why  do  you  seek  and  serve  this  swaggerer,  as 
if  you  had  lost  every  jot  of  manly  independence  ?" 

"  Not  so  fast,  Hugh, — and  my  very  good  younger 
brother — not  so  fast.  I  have  not  served  him,  more  than 
I  have  served  you  and  all  of  us,  by  what  I  have  done  this 
morning." — He  then  went  on  to  tell  his  brother  of  the 
occurrences  of  the  day.  The  other  seemed  much  as- 
tonished, and  there  was  something  of  chagrin  manifest 
in  his  astonishment — so  much  so  indeed,  that  Walter 
could  not  help  asking  him  if  he  regretted  that  Har- 
rison should  get  his  own  again. 

"  No — not  so,  brother, — but  the  truth  is,  I  was  about 
to  take  my  skins  to  this  same  trader  for  sale  and  bar- 
ter, and  my  purpose  is  something  staggered  by  your 
intelligence." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  but  it  should  stagger  you  ;  and 
I  certainly  shouldn't  advise  you,  for  the  man  who 
comes  to  smuggle  and  kidnap  will  scarcely  heed 
smaller  matters  of  trade." 

"  I  must  go — I  want  every  thing,  even  powder  and 
lead." 

"  Well,  that's  a  good  want  with  you,  Hugh,  for  if 
you  had  none,  you'd  be  better  willing  to  work  at  home." 

"I  will  not  go  into  the  field," — said  the  other,  haugh- 
tily and  impatiently.  "  It  will  do  for  you,  to  take  the 
mule's  labour,  who  are  so  willing  to  be  at  the  beck  and 
call  of  every  swaggering  upstart,  but  I  will  not.  No  J 
Let  me  rather  go  with  the  Indians,  and  take  up  with 
them,  and  dress  in  their  skins,  and  disfigure  myself 
with  their  savage  paint ;  but  I  will  neither  dig  nor  hew 
when  I  can  do  otherwise." 


THE    YEMASSEE.  156 

"  Ay,  when  you  can  do  otherwise,  Hugh  Grayson 
— I  am  willing.  But  do  not  deceive  yourself,  young 
brother  of  mine.  I  know,  if  you  do  not,  why  th* 
labours  of  the  field,  which  I  must  go  through  with,  are 
your  dislike.  I  know  why  you  will  rather  drive  the 
woods,  day  after  day,  in  the  Indian  fashion,  along  with 
Chiparee  or  Occonestoga  and  with  no  better  company, 
for  now  and  then  a  buck  or  doe,  in  preference  to  more 
regular  employment  and  a  more  certain  subsistence  " 

"  And  why  is  it  then,  Walter — let  me  have  the  benefit 
of  your  knowledge." 

"  Ay,  I  know  and  so  do  you,  Hugh,  and  shame,  I 
say,  on  the  false  pride  which  regards  the  toil  of  your 
own  father,  and  the  labours  of  your  own  brother,  as 
degrading.  Ay,  you  blush,  and  well  you  may,  Hugh 
Grayson.  It  is  the  truth — a  truth  I  have  never  spoken 
in  your  ears  before,  and  should  not  have  spoken  now 
but  for  the  freedom  and  frequency  with  which  you,  my 
younger  brother,  and  for  whom  I  have  toiled  when  he 
could  not  toil  for  himself,  presume  to  speak  of  my  con- 
duct as  slavish.  Now  examine  your  own,  and  know 
that  as  I  am  independent,  I  am  not  slavish — you  can 
tell  for  yourself  whether  you  owe  as  little  to  me,  as  I 
to  you  and  to  all  other  persons.  When  you  have  an- 
swered this  question,  Hugh,  you  can  find  a  better  ap- 
plication than  you  have  yet  made  of  that  same  word 
'  slave.' " 

The  cheek  of  the  hearer  grew  pale  and  crimson, 
alternately,  at  the  reproach  of  the  speaker,  whose  eye 
watched  him  with  not  a  little  of  that  sternness  of 
glance,  which  heretofore  had  filled  his  own.  At  one 
moment,  the  collected  fury  of  his  look  seemed  to 
threaten  violence,  but,  as  if  consideration  came  oppor- 
tunely, he  turned  aside,  and  after  a  few  moments'  pause, 
replied  in  a  thick,  broken  tone  of  voice  : — 

"  You  have  said  well,  my  elder  brother  and  my 
better.  Your  reproach  is  just — I  am  a  dependant — a 
beggar — one  who  should  acknowledge,  if  he  has  not 
craved  for,  charity.  I  say  it — and  I  feel  it,  and  the 
sooner  I  requite  the  obligation  the  better      I  will  go  to 


160  THE    YEMASSEE. 

this  trader,  and  sell  my  skins  if  I  can,  kidnapper  or 
pirate  though  he  be.  I  will  go  to  him,  and  beg  him  to 
buy,  which  I  might  not  have  done  but  for  your  speech. 
You  have  said  harshly,  Walter  Grayson,  very  harshly, 
but  truly,  and — I  thank  you,  I  thank  you,  believe  me — 
I  thank  you  for  the  lesson." 

As  he  moved  away,  the  elder  brother  turned  quick 
upon  him,  and  with  an  ebullition  of  feeling  which  did 
not  impair  his  manliness,  he  grappled  his  hand — 

"  Hugh,  boy,  I  was  harsh  and  foolish,  but  you 
wrought  me  to  it.  I  love  you,  brother — love  you  as  if 
you  were  my  own  son,  and  do  not  repent  me  of  any 
thing  I  have  done  for  you,  which,  were  it  to  be  done 
over  again,  I  should  rejoice  to  do.  But  when  you 
speak  in  such  harsh  language  of  men  whom  you  know 
I  love,  you  provoke  me,  particularly  when  I  see  and 
know  that  you  do  them  injustice.  Now,  Captain  Har- 
rison, let  me  tell  you " 

"  I  would  not  hear,  Walter — nothing,  I  pray  you,  of 
that  man !" 

"  And  why  not  ? — Ah,  Hughey,  put  down  this  bad 
spirit — this  impatient  spirit,  which  will  not  let  you 
sleep  ;  for  even  in  your  sleep  it  speaks  out,  and  I  have 
heard  it." 

"Ha!"  and  the  other  started,  and  laid  his  hand  on 
the  arm  of  his  brother — "  thou  hast  heard  what  ?" 

"  What  I  will  not  say — not  even  to  you,  but  enough, 
Hugh,  to  satisfy  me,  that  your  dislike  to  Harrison 
springs  from  an  unbecoming  feeling." 

"  Name  it." 

"  Jealousy  ! — I  have  already  hinted  as  much,  and 
now  I  tell  you  that  your  love  for  Bess  Matthews,  and 
her  love  for  him,  are  the  cause  of  your  hate  to  Har- 
rison." ■»     • 

"  You  mean  not  to  say  she  loves  him." 

"  I  do,  Hugh — honestly  I  believe  it." 

And  as  the  elder  brother  replied,  the  other  dashed 
down  his  hand,  which,  on  putting  the  question,  he  had 
taken,  and  rushed  off,  with  a  feeling  of  desperation,  to 
the  boat.     In  a  moment,  seated  centrally  within  it,  he 


THE    YEMASSEE,  161 

had  left  the  banks  ;  and  the  little  flap  oar  was  plied  from 
hand  to  hand  with  a  rapidity  and  vigour  more  than 
half  derived  from  the  violent  boiling  of  the  feverish 
blood  within  his  veins.  With  a  glance  of  sympathy 
and  of  genuine  feeling,  Walter  Grayson  surveyed  his 
progress  for  a  while,  then  turned  away  to  the  cottage 
and  to  other  occupations. 

In  a  little  while,  the  younger  brother,  with  his  small 
cargo,  approached  the  vessel,  and  was  instantly  hailed 
by  a  gruff"  voice  from  within. 

f  Throw  me  a  rope,"  was  the  cry  of  Grayson. 

"  For  what. — what  the  devil  should  make  us  throw 
you  a  rope — who  are  you — what  do  you  want?"  was 
the  reply.  The  speaker,  who  was  no  other  than  our 
old  acquaintance  Chorley,  appearing  at  the  same 
moment,  and  looking  down  at  the  visiter. 

"  You  buy  furs  and  skins,  captain — I  have  both,  and 
here  is  a  bag  of  amber,  fresh  gathered,  and  the  drops 
are  large.*  I  want  powder  for  them,  and  shot — some 
knives  and  hatchets." 

"  You  get  none  from  me,  blast  me." 

"  What,  wherefore  are  you  here,  if  not  for  trade  ?" 
was  the  involuntary  question  of  Grayson.  The  sea- 
man, still  desirous  of  preserving  appearances  as  much 
as  possible,  found  it  necessary  to  control  his  mood, 
which  the  previous  circumstances  of  the  morning 
were  not  altogether  calculated  to  soften  greatly.  He 
replied  therefore  evasively. 

"Ay,  to  be  sure  I  come  for  trade,  but  can't  you  wait 
till  I  haul  up  to  the  landing  ?  I  am  afraid  there's  not 
water  enough  for  me  to  do  so  now,  for  the  stream 
shoals  here,  as  I  can  tell  by  my  soundings,  too  greatly 
for  the  risk  ;  but  to-morrow — come  to-morrow,  and  I'll 
trade  with  you  for  such  things  as  you  want." 

*  Amber,  in  Carolina,  was  supposed  to  exist  in  such  quantities,  at  an 
early  period  in  its  history,  that  among  the  laws  and  constitution  made 
by  the  celebrated  John  Locke  for  the  Province,  we  find  one,  regula- 
ting its  distribution  among  the  eight  lords  proprietors.  At  present 
we  have  no  evidence  of  its  fruitfulness  in  that  quarter,  and  the  prob- 
ability is,  that  in  the  sanguine  spirit  of  the  time,  the  notion  was 
entertained  from  the  few  specimens  occasionally  found  and  worn  by 


he  Indians 


14* 


1612  THE    YEMASSEE. 

**  And  whether  ycu  haul  to  the  landing  or  not,  why 
not  trade  on  board  to-day  ?  Let  me  bring  my  skins  up , 
throw  me  a  rope,  and  we  shall  soon  trade.  I  want  but 
few  things,  and  they  will  require  no  long  search  ;  yof 
can  easily  say  if  you  have  them." 

But  this  was  pressing  the  point  too  far  upon  Chorley's 
good-nature.  The  seaman  swore  indignantly  at  the 
pertinacity  of  his  visiter,  and  pouring  forth  a  broadside 
of  oaths,  bade  him  tack  ship  and  trouble  him  no  longer. 

"  Be  off  now,  young  one,  before  I  send  you  a  supply 
of  lead  not  so  much  to  your  liking.  If  you  don't  take 
this  chance  and  put  about,  you'll  never  catch  stays 
again.  I'll  send  a  shot  through  your  timber-trunk  and 
scuttle  her  at  once." 

Tire  fierce  spirit  of  Grayson  ill  brooked  such  treat- 
ment, but  he  had  no  remedy  save  in  words.  He  did  not 
scruple  to  denounce  the  seaman  as  a  low  churl  and 
an  illnatured  ruffian.  Coolly  then,  and  with  the  utmost 
deliberation,  paddling  himself  round,  with  a  disappointed 
heart,  he  made  once  more  for  the  cottage  landing. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"  The  hunters  are  upon  thee— keep  thy  pace, 
Nor  falter,  lest  the  arrow  strike  thy  back, 
And  the  foe  trample  on  thy  prostrate  form." 

It  was  about  the  noon  of  the  same  day,  when  the 
son  of  Sanutee,  the  outcast  and  exiled  Occonestoga, 
escaping  from  his  father's  assault  and  flying  from  the 
place  of  council  as  already  narrated,  appeared  on  the 
banks  of  the  river  nearly  opposite  the  denser  settle- 
ment of  the  whites,  and  several  miles  below  Pocota- 
ligo.  But  the  avenger  had  followed  hard  upon  his 
footsteps,  and  he  had  suffered  terribly  in  his  flight.  His 
whole  appearance  was  that  of  the  extremest  wretched 
ness.     His  dress  was  torn  by  the  thorns  of  many  a 


TiiE  Vemasseb.  163 

thicket  in  which  he  had  been  compelled  to  crawl  for 
shelter.  His  skin  had  been  lacerated,  and  the  brakes 
and  creeks  through  which  he  had  to  plough  and  plunge, 
had  left  the  tribute  of  their  mud  and  mire  on  every  inch 
of  his  person.  Nor  had  the  trials  of  his  mind  been 
less.  Previous  drunkenness,  the  want  of  food  and  ex- 
treme fatigue  (for,  circuitously  doubling  from  his  pur- 
suers, he  had  run  nearly  the  whole  night,  scarcely  able 
to  rest  for  a  moment),  contributed  duly  to  the  misera- 
ble figure  which  he  made.  His  eyes  were  swollen — 
his  cheeks  sunken,  and  there  was  a  wo-begone  feeble- 
ness and  utter  abandon  about  his  whole  appearance 
He  had  been  completely  sobered  by  the  hunt  made 
after  him  ;  and  the  instinct  of  life,  for  he  knew  nothing 
of  the  peculiar  nature  of  the  doom  in  reserve  for  him, 
had  effectually  called  all  his  faculties  into  exercise. 

When  hurried  from  the  council-house  by  Sir  Ed- 
mund Bellinger,  to  save  him  from  the  anger  of  his 
father,  he  had  taken  the  way  under  a  filial  and  natural 
influence  to  the  lodge  of  Matiwan.  And  she  cheered 
and  would  have  cherished  him,  could  that  have  been 
done  consistently  with  her  duty  to  her  lord.  What  she 
could  do,  however,  she  did ;  and  though  deeply  sorrowing 
over  his  prostituted  manhood,  she  could  not  at  the  same 
time  forget  that  he  was  her  son.  But  in  her  cabin  he 
was  not  permitted  to  linger  long.  Watchful  for  the  re- 
turn of  Sanutee,  Matiwan  was  soon  apprized  of  the 
approach  of  the  pursuers.  The  people,  collected  to 
avenge  themselves  upon  the  chiefs,  were  not  likely  to 
suffer  the  escape  of  one,  who,  like  Occonestoga,  had 
done  so  much  to  subject  them,  as  they  thought,  to  the 
dominion  of  the  English.  A  party  of  them,  accordingly, 
hearing  of  his  flight  and  readily  conceiving  its  direc- 
tion, took  the  same  route ;  and,  but  for  the  mother's 
watchfulness,  he  had  then  shared  the  doom  of  the 
other  chiefs.  But  she  heard  their  coming  and  sent 
him  on  his  way  ;  not  so  soon,  however,  as  to  make 
his  start  in  advance  of  them  a  matter  of  very  great 
importance  to  his  flight.  They  were  close  upon  his 
heels,  and  when  he  cowered  silently  in  the  brake,  they 


164  THE   VEMASSEE. 

took  their  way  directly  beside  him.  When  he  lay 
stretched  alongside  of  the  fallen  tree  they  stepped  over 
his  body,  and  when,  seeking  a  beaten  path  in  his  tor- 
tuous course,  he  dared  to  look  around  him,  the  waving 
pine  torches  which  they  carried,  flamed  before  his 
eyes. — 

"  I  will  burn  feathers,  thou  shalt  have  arrows,  Opit- 
chi-Manneyto.  Be  not  wroth  with  the  young  chief 
of  Yemassee.  Make  the  eyes  blind  that  hunt  after 
him  for  blood.  Thou  shalt  have  arrows  and  feathers, 
Opitchi-Manneyto — a  bright  fire  of  arrows  and  feath- 
ers !" 

Thus,  as  he  lay  beneath  the  branches  of  a  fallen 
tree  around  which  his  pursuers  were  winding,  the 
young  warrior  uttered  the  common  form  of  deprecation 
and  prayer  to  the  evil  deity  of  his  people,  in  the  lan- 
guage of  the  nation.  But  he  did  not  despair,  though 
he  prayed.  Though  now  easily  inebriated  and  ex- 
tremely dissolute  in  that  respect,  Occonestoga  was  a 
gallant  and  a  very  skilful  partisan  even  in  the  estima- 
tion of  the  Indians.  He  had  been  one  of  the  most 
promising  of  all  their  youth,  when  first  made  a  chief, 
after  a  great  battle  with  the  Savannahs,  against  whom 
he  first  distinguished  himself.  This  exceeding  promise 
at  first,  made  the  mortification  of  his  subsequent  fall 
more  exquisitely  painful  to  Sanutee,  who  was  proud 
and  ambitious.  JNor  was  Occonestoga  himself  utterly 
insensible  to  his  degradation.  When  sober, his  humilia- 
tion and  shame  were  scarcely  less  poignant  than  that  of 
his  father;  but,  unhappily,  the  seduction  of  strong  drink, 
he  had  never  been  able  to  withstand.  He  was  easily 
persuaded  and  as  easily  overcome.  He  had  thus  gone 
on  for  some  time ;  and,  with  this  object,  had  sought 
daily  communication  with  the  lower  classes  of  the 
white  settlers,  from  whom  alone  liquor  could  be  ob- 
tained. For  this  vile  reward  he  had  condescended  to 
the  performance  of  various  services  for  the  whites,  held 
degrading  by  his  own  people  ;  until,  at  length,  but  for  his 
father's  great  influence,  which  necessarily  restrained 
the  popular  feeling  on  the  subject  of  the  son's  conduct 


THE   YEMASSEE.  165 

he  had  long  since  been  thrust  from  any  consideration 
or  authority  among  them.  Originally,  he  had  been 
highly  popular.  His  courage  had  been  greatly  admired, 
and  admirably  consorted  with  the  strength  and  beauty 
of  his  person.  Even  now,  bloated  and  blasted  as  he 
was,  there  was  something  highly  prepossessing  in  his 
general  appearance.  He  was  tall  and  graceful,  broad 
and  full  across  the  breast,  and  straight  as  an  arrow. 
But  the  soul  was  debased,  and  if  it  were  possible  at 
all,  in  the  thought  of  an  Indian,  for  a  moment  to  meditate 
the  commission  of  suicide,  there  was  that  in  the  coun- 
tenance and  expression  of  Occonestoga,  as  he  rose 
from  the  morass,  on  the  diversion  from  his  track  of 
the  pursuers,  almost  to  warrant  the  belief  that  his  detes- 
tation of  life  had  driven  him  to  such  a  determination. 
But  on  he  went,  pressing  rapidly  forward,  while  the 
hunters  were  baffled  in  rounding  a  dense  brake  through 
which  in  his  desperation  he  had  dared  to  go.  He 
was  beyond  them,  but  they  were  between  him  and  the 
river ;  and  for  the  white  settlements,  his  course — the 
only  course  in  which  he  hoped  for  safety — was  bent. 
Day  came,  and  still  the  shouts  of  the  pursuers,  and 
occasionally  a  sight  of  them,  warned  him  into  increased 
activity — a  necessity  greatly  at  variance  with  the  fa- 
tigue he  had  already  undergone.  In  addition  to  this, 
his  flight  had  taken  him  completely  out  of  his  contempla- 
ted route.  To  recover  and  regain  it  was  now  his  object. 
Boldly  striking  across  the  path  of  his  hunters,  Occo- 
nestoga darted  along  the  bed  of  a  branch  which  ran 
parallel  with  the  course  he  aimed  to  take.  He  lay 
still  as  they  approached — he  heard  their  retreating 
footsteps,  and  again  he  set  forward.  But  the  ear  and 
the  sense  of  the  Indian  are  as  keen  as  his  own  arrow, 
and  the  pursuers  were  not  long  misled.  They  retrieved 
their  error,  and  turned  with  the  fugitive ;  but  the  in- 
stinct of  preservation  was  still  active,  and  momentary 
success  gave  him  a  new  stimulant  to  exertion.  At 
length,  when  almost  despairing  and  exhausted,  his  eyes 
beheld  and  his  feet  gained  the  bank  of  the  river,  still 
ahead  of  his  enemy ;  and  grateful,  but  exhausted,  he 


166  THE    YEMASSEE. 

lay  for  a  few  moments  stretched  upon  the  sands,  and 
gazing  upon  the  quiet  waters  before  him.  He  was  not 
long  suffered  to  remain  in  peace.  A  shout  arrested  his 
attention,  and  he  started  to  his  feet  to  behold  two  of  his 
pursuers  emerging  at  a  little  distance  from  the  forest. 
To  be  hunted  thus  like  a  dog  was  a  pang,  and  previous 
fatigue  and  a  strong  impulse  of  desperation  persuaded 
him  that  death  were  far  preferable  to  the  miserable  and 
outcast  life  which  he  led.  So  feeling,  in  that  one  mo- 
ment of  despair,  he  threw  open  the  folds  of  his  hunting 
shirt,  and  placing  his  hand  upon  his  breast,  cried 
out  to  them  to  shoot.  But  the  bow  was  unlifted,  the 
arrow  undrawn,  and  to  his  surprise  the  men  who  had 
pursued  him  as  he  thought  for  his  blood,  now  refused 
what  they  had  desired.  They  increased  their  efforts 
to  take,  but  not  to  destroy  him.  The  circumstance 
surprised  him ;  and  with  a  renewal  of  his  thought 
came  a  renewed  disposition  to  escape.  Without  fur- 
ther word,  and  with  the  instantaneous  action  of  his 
reason,  he  plunged  forward  into  the  river,  and  diving 
down  like  an  otter,  reserved  his  breath  until,  arising,  he 
lay  in  the  very  centre  of  the  stream.  But  he  arose 
enfeebled  and  overcome — the  feeling  of  despair  grew 
with  his  weakness,  and  turning  a  look  of  defiance  upon 
the  two  Indians  who  still  stood  in  doubt  watching  his 
progress  from  the  banks  which  they  had  now  gained,  he 
raised  himself  breast  high  with  a  sudden  effort  from  the 
water,  and  once  more  challenged  their  arrows  to  his 
breast,  which,  with  one  hand,  he  struck  with  a  fierce  vio- 
lence, the  action  of  defiance  and  despair.  As  they  saw 
the  action,  one  of  them,  as  if  in  compliance  with  the 
demand,  lifted  his  bow,  but  the  other  the  next  instant 
struck  it  down.  Half  amazed  and  wondering  at  what 
he  saw,  and  now  almost  overcome  by  his  effort,  the 
sinking  Occonestoga  gave  a  single  shout  of  derision,  and 
ceased  all  further  effort.  The  waters  bore  him  down. 
Once,  and  once  only,  his  hand  was  struck  out  as  if  in 
the  act  of  swimming,  while  his  head  was  buried ;  and 
then  the  river  closed  over  him.  The  brave  but 
desponding  warrior  sunk  hopelessly,  just  as  the  little 


THE    YEMASSEE.  167 

skiff  of  Hugh  Grayson,  returning  from  his  interview 
with  Chorley,  which  we  have  already  narrated,  darted 
over  the  small  circle  in  the  stream  which  still  bubbled 
and  broke  where  the  young  Indian  had  gone  down. 
The  whole  scene  had  been  witnessed  by  him,  and  he 
had  urged  every  sinew  in  approaching.  His  voice;  as 
he  called  aloud  to  Occonestoga,  whom  he  well  knew, 
had  been  unheard  by  the  drowning  and  despairing  man. 
But  still  he  came  in  time,  for,  as  his  little  boat  whirled 
about  under  the  direction  of  his  paddle  and  around  the 
spot,  the  long  black  hair  suddenly  grew  visible  above 
the  water,  and  in  the  next  moment  was  firmly  clutched 
in  the  grasp  of  the  Carolinian.  With  difficulty  he  sus- 
tained the  head  above  the  surface,  still  holding  on  by  the 
hair.  The  banks  were  not  distant,  and  the  little  paddle 
which  he  employed  was  susceptible  of  use  by  one 
hand.  Though  thus  encumbered,  he  was  soon  ena- 
bled to  get  within  his  depth.  This  done,  he  jumped 
from  the  boat,  and  by  very  great  effort  bore  the 
unconscious  victim  to  the  land.  A  shout  from  the 
Indians  on  the  opposite  bank,  attested  their  own  interest 
in  the  result ;  and  they  were  lost  in  the  forest  just  at 
fbp  moment  when  returning  consciousness  on  the  part 
of  Occonestoga,  had  rewarded  Grayson  for  the  efforts  he 
had  made  and  still  continued  making  for  his  recovery. 

"  Thou  art  better  now,  Occonestoga,  art  thou  not  ?" 
was  the  inquiry  of  his  preserver. 

"  Feathers  and  arrows  for  thee,  Opitchi-Manneyto," 
in  his  own  language,  muttered  the  savage,  his  mind 
recurring  to  the  previous  pursuit.  The  youth  continued 
his  services  without  pressing  him  for  speech,  and  his 
exhaustion  had  been  so  great  that  he  could  do  little  if 
any  thing  for  himself.  Unlashing  his  bow  and  quiver, 
Avhich  had  been  tied  securely  to  his  back  and  loosing 
the  belt  about  his  body,  Grayson  still  further  contributed 
to  his  relief.  At  length  he  grew  conscious  and  suf- 
ficiently restored  to  converse  freely  with  his  preserver  ; 
and  though  still  gloomy  and  depressed,  Occonestoga 
returned  him  thanks  in  his  own  way  for  the  assistance 
which  had  been  given  him. 


168 


THE    YEMASSEE. 


"Thou wilt  go  with  me  to  my  cabin,  Occonestoga »'• 
"  No !  Occonestoga  is  a  dog.     The  woods  for  Occo- 
nestoga.  He  must  seek  arrows  and  feathers  for  Opitchi- 
Manneyto,  who  came  to  him  in  the  swamp." 

The  youth  pressed  him  farther,  but  finding  him 
obdurate,  and  knowing  well  the  inflexible  character  of 
the  Indian,  he  gave  up  the  hope  of  persuading  him  to 
his  habitation.  They  separated  atlength  after  the  delay 
of  an  hour,— Grayson  again  in  his  canoe,  and  Occo- 
nestoga plunging  into  the  woods  in  the  direction  of  the 
Block  House. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"  Thus  nature,  with  an  attribute  most  strange. 
Clothes  even  the  reptile.     Desolate  would  be 
The  danger,  were  there  not,  in  our  own  thoughts, 
Something  to  win  us  to  it." 

The  afternoon  of  that  day  was  one  of  those  clear, 
sweet,  balmy  afternoons,  such  as  make  of  the  spring 
season  m  the  south,  a  holyday  term  of  nature.  All 
was  life,  animated  life  and  freshness.  The  month  of 
April,  in  that  region,  is,  indeed, 


:  the  time, 


When  the  merry  birds  do  chime 
Airy  wood-notes  wild  and  free, 
In  secluded  bower  and  tree. 
Season  of  fantastic  caange, 
Sweet,  familiar,  wild,  and  strange- 
Time  of  promise,  when  the  leaf 
Has  a  tear  of  pleasant  grief, — 
When  the  winds,  by  nature  coy, 
Do  both  cold  and  heat  alloy, 
Nor  to  either  will  dispense 
Their  delighting  preference." 


The  day  had  been  gratefully  warm ;  and,  promising 
an  early  summer,  there  was  a  prolific  show  of  foliage 
throughout  the  forest.     The  twittering  of  a  thousand 


THE    YEMASSEE.  169 

various  birds,  and  the  occasional  warble  of  that  Puck 
of  the  American  forests,  the  mocker — the  Coonee- 
latee,  or  Trick-tongue  of  the  Yemassees — together 
with  the  gleesome  murmur  of  zephyr  and  brook,  gave 
to  the  scene  an  aspect  of  wooing  and  seductive 
repose,  that  coidd  not  fail  to  win  the  sense  into  a 
most  happy  unconsciousness.  The  old  oaken  grove 
which  Bess  Matthews,  in  compliance  with  the  prayei 
of  her  lover,  now  approached,  was  delightfully  con- 
ceived for  such  an  occasion.  All  things  within  it 
seemed  to  breathe  of  love.  The  murmur  of  the 
brooklet,  the  song  of  the  bird,  the  hum  of  the  zephyr 
in  the  tree-top,  had  each  a  corresponding  burden.  The 
Providence  surely  has  its  purpose  in  associating  only 
with  the  woods  those  gentle,  and  beautiful  influences 
which  are  without  use  or  object  to  the  obtuse  sense, 
and  can  only  be  felt  and  valued  by  a  spirit  of  corre- 
sponding gentleness  and  beauty.  The  scene  itself,  to 
the  eye,  was  of  like  character.  The  rich  green  of  the 
leaves — the  deep  crimson  of  the  wild  flower — the 
gemmed  and  floral-knotted  long  grass  that  carpeted  the 
path — the  deep,  solemn  shadows  of  evening,  and  the 
trees  through  which  the  now  declining  sun  was  enabled 
only  here  and  there  to  sprinkle  a  few  drops  from  his 
golden  censer — all  gave  power  to  that  spell  of  quiet, 
which,  by  divesting  the  mind  of  its  associations  of  every- 
day and  busy  life,  throws  it  back  upon  its  early  and 
unsophisticated  nature — restoring  that  time  in  the  elder 
and  better  condition  of  humanity,  when,  unchanged  by 
conventional  influences,  the  whole  business  of  life 
seems  to  have  been  the  worship  of  high  spirits,  and 
the  exercise  of  living,  holy,  and  generous  affections. 

The  scene  and  time  had  a  strong  influence  over  the 
maiden,  as  she  slowly  took  her  way  to  the  place  of 
meeting.  Bess  Matthews,  indeed,  was  singularly 
susceptible  of  such  influences.  She  was  a  girl  of 
heart,  a  wild  heart — a  thing  of  the  forest, —  gentle  as 
its  innocentest  flowers,  quite  as  lovely,  and  if,  unlike 
*hem,  the  creature  of  a  less  fleeting  life,  one,  at  least, 
whose  youth  and  freshness  might  almost  persuade  us 

Vot.  I.  15 


170  THE    YEMASSEE. 

to  regard  her  as  never  having  been  in  existence  for  a 
longer  season.  She  was  also  a  girl  of  thought  and 
intellect — something  too,  of  a  dreamer : — one  to  whom 
a  song  brought  a  sentiment — the  sentiment  an  emotion, 
and  that  in  turn  seeking  an  altar  which  called  for  all 
the  worship  of  her  spirit.  She  had  in  her  own  heart 
a  far  sweeter  song  than  that  which  she  occasionally 
murmured  from  her  lips.  She  felt  all  the  poetry,  all 
the  truth  of  the  scene — its  passion,  its  inspiration, 
and,  with  a  holy  sympathy  for  all  of  nature's  beautiful, 
the  associated  feeling  of  admiration  for  all  that  was 
noble,  awakened  in  her  mind  a  sentiment,  and  in  her 
heart  an  emotion,  that  led  her,  not  less  to  the  most  care- 
ful forbearance  to  tread  upon  the  humblest  flower,  than 
to  a  feeling  little  short  of  reverence  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  the  gigantic  tree.  It  was  her  faith  with  one 
of  the  greatest  of  modern  poets,  that  the  daisy  en- 
joyed its  existence ;  and  that,  too,  in  a  degree  of  ex- 
quisite perception,  duly  according  with  its  loveliness 
of  look  and  delicacy  of  structure.  This  innate  prin- 
ciple of  regard  for  the  beautiful  forest  idiots,  as  we  may 
call  its  leaves  and  flowers,  was  duly  heightened,  we 
may  add,  by  the  soft  passion  of  love  then  prevailing 
in  her  bosom  for  Gabriel  Harrison.  She  loved  him 
as  she  found  in  him  the  strength  of  the  tree  well 
combined  with  the  softness  of  the  flower.  Her  heart 
and  fancy  at  once  united  in  the  recognition  of  his  claims 
upon  her  affections  ;  and,  however  unknown  in  other 
respects,  she  loved  him  deeply  and  devotedly  for 
what  she  knew.  Beyond  what  she  saw — beyond 
the  knowledge  gathered  from  his  uttered  sentiments, 
and  the  free  grace  of  his  manner — his  manliness,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  his  forbearance, — he  was  scarcely 
less  a  mystery  to  her  than  to  her  father,  to  whom  mys- 
tery had  far  less  of  recommendation.  But  the  secret, 
so  he  had  assured  her,  would  be  soon  explained ;  and 
she  was  satisfied  to  believe  in  the  assurance.  She  cer- 
tainly longed  for  the  time  to  come ;  and  we  shall  be 
doing  no  discredit  to  her  sense  of  maidenly  delicacy 
when  we  say,  that  she  longed  for  the  development  not 


THE    YEMASSEE.  171 

so  much  because  she  desired  the  satisfaction  of  her 
curiosity,  as  because  the  objections  of  her  sire,  so 
Harrison  had  assured  her,  would  then  certain*  y  be  re- 
moved, and  their  union  would  immediately  fonow. 

"  He  is  not  come,"  she  murmured,  half  disappointed, 
as  the  old  grove  of  oaks  with  all  its  religious  solemnity 
of  shadow  lay  before  bjer.  She  took  her  seat  at  the 
foot  of  a  tree,  the  growth  of  a  century,  whose  thick 
and  knotted  roots,  started  from  their  sheltering  earth, 
shot  even  above  the  long  grass  around  them,  and 
ran  in  irregular  sweeps  for  a  considerable  distance 
upon  the  surface.  Here  she  sat  not  long,  for  her 
mind  grew  impatient  and  confused  with  the  various 
thoughts  crowding  upon  it — sweet  thoughts  it  may  be, 
for  she  thought,  of  him — almost  of  him,  only,  whom 
she  loved,  and  of  the  long  hours  of  happy  enjoyment 
which  the  future  had  in  store.  Then  came  the  fears, 
following  fast  upon  the  hopes,  as  the  shadows  follow 
the  sunlight.  The  doubts  of  existence — the  brevity 
and  the  fluctuations  of  life  ;  these  are  the  contempla- 
tions even  of  happy  love,  and  these  beset  and  saddened 
her  ;  till,  starting  up  in  that  dreamy  confusion  which 
the  scene  not  less  than  the  subject  of  her  musings  had 
inspired,  she  glided  among  the  old  trees,  scarce  con- 
scious of  her  movement. 

"  He  does  not  come — he  does  not  come,"  she  mur- 
mured, as  she  stood  contemplating  the  thick  copse 
spreading  before  her,  and  forming  the  barrier  which 
terminated  the  beautiful  range  of  oaks  that  consti- 
tuted the  grove.  How  beautiful  was  the  green  and  gar- 
niture of  that  little  copse  of  wood.  The  leaves  were 
thick,  and  the  grass  around  lay  folded  over  and  over  in 
bunches,  with  here  and  there  a  wild  flower,  gleaming 
from  its  green  and  making  of  it  a  beautiful  carpe;  of 
the  richest  and  most  various  texture.  A  small  tree 
rose  from  the  centre  of  a  clump  around  which  a  wild 
grape  gadded  luxuriantly ;  and,  with  an  incoherent 
sense  of  what  she  saw,  she  lingered  before  the  li'.tle 
cluster,  seeming  to  survey  that  which  she  had  no 
thought  for  at  the  moment.     Things  grew  indistinct,  to 


172  THE    YEMASSEE. 

her  wandering  eye — the  thought  was  turned  inward 
— and  the  musing  spirit  denying  the  governing  sense 
to  the  external  agents  and  conductors,  they  failed  duly 
to  appreciate  the  forms  that  rose,  and  floated,  and  glided 
before  them.  In  this  way,  the  leaf  detached  made  no 
impression  upon  the  sight  that  was  yet  bent  upon  it ; 
she  saw  not  the  bird,  though  it  whirled,  untroubled  by  a 
fear,  in  wanton  circles  around  her  head — and  the 
black-snake,  with  the  rapidity  of  an  arrow,  darted  over 
her  path  without  arousing  a  single  terror  in  the  form 
that  otherwise  would  have  shivered  but  at  its  appear- 
ance. And  yet,  though  thus  indistinct  were  all  things 
around  her  to  the  musing  mind  of  the  maiden,  her  eye 
was  singularly  impressed  with  one  object,  peering  out 
at  intervals  from  the  little  bush  beneath  it.  She  saw 
or  thought  she  saw,  at  moments,  through  the  bright 
green  of  the  leaves,  a  star-like  glance,  a  small  bright 
ray,  subtile,  sharp,  beautiful — an  eye  of  the  leaf  itself, 
darting  the  most  searching  looks  into  her  own.  Now 
the  leaves  shook  and  the  vines  waved  elastically  and 
in  beautiful  forms  before  her,  but  the  star-like  eye  was 
there,  bright  and  gorgeous,  and  still  glancing  up  to  her 
own.  How  beautiful — how  strange,  did  it  appear  to 
the  maiden.  She  watched  it  still  with  a  dreaming 
sense,  but  with  a  spirit  strangely  attracted  by  its  beauty 
— with  a  feeling  in  which  awe  and  admiration  were 
equally  commingled.  She  could  have  bent  forward  to 
pluck  the  gem-like  thing  from  the  bosom  of  the  leaf  in 
which  it  seemed  to  grow,  and  from  which  it  gleamed 
so  brilliantly ;  but  once,  as  she  approached,  she  heard 
a  shrill  scream  from  the  tree  above  her — such  a  scream 
as  the  mock-bird  makes,  when,  angrily,  it  raises  its 
dusky  crest,  and  flaps  its  wings  furiously  against  its 
slender  sides.  Such  a  scream  seemed  like  a  warning, 
and  though  yet  unawakened  to  full  consciousness,  it 
repelled  her  approach.  More  than  once,  in  her  survey 
of  this  strange  object,  had  she  heard  that  shrill  note, 
and  still  had  it  carried  to  her  ear  the  same  note  of 
warning,  and  to  her  mind  the  same  vague  conscious- 
ness of  an  evil  presence.    But  the  star-like  eye  was  yet 


THE    YEMASSEE.  173 

upon  her  own — a  small,  bright  eye,  quick  like  that  of  a 
bird,  now  steady  in  its  place  and  observant  seemingly 
only  of  hers,  now  darting  forward  with  all  the  cluster- 
ing leaves  about  it,  and  shooting  up  towards  her,  as  if 
wooing  her  to  seize.  At  another  moment,  riveted 
to  the  vine  which  lay  around  it,  it  would  whirl  round 
and  round,  dazzlingly  bright  and  beautiful,  even  as  a 
torch,  waving  hurriedly  by  night  in  the  hands  of  some 
playful  boy  ; — but,  in  all  this  time,  the  glance  was  never 
taken  from  her  own — there  it  grew,  fixed — a  very  prin- 
ciple of  light, — and  such  a  light — a  subtile,  burning, 
piercing,  fascinating  light,  such  as  gathers  in  vapour 
above  the  old  grave,  and  binds  us  as  we  look — shooting, 
darting  directly  into  her  own,  dazzling  her  gaze,  defeat- 
ing its  sense  of  discrimination,  and  confusing  strangely 
that  of  perception.  She  felt  dizzy,  for,  as  she  looked, 
a  cloud  of  colours,  bright,  gay,  various  colours,  floated 
and  hung  like  so  much  drapery  around  the  single 
object  that  had  so  secured  her  attention  and  spell- 
bound her  feet.  Her  limbs  felt  momently  more  and 
more  insecure — her  blood  grew  cold,  and  she  seemed 
to  feel  the  gradual  freeze  of  vein  by  vein,  throughout 
her  person.  At  that  moment  a  rustling  was  heard  in 
the  branches  of  the  tree  beside  her,  and  the  bird,  which 
had  repeatedly  uttered  a  single  cry,  as  it  were  of 
warning,  above  her,  flew  away  from  his  station  with  a 
scream  more  piercing  than  ever.  This  movement  had 
the  effect,  for  which  it  really  seemed  intended,  of  bring- 
ing back  to  her  a  portion  of  the  consciousness  she 
seemed  so  totally  to  have  been  deprived  of  before.  She 
strove  to  move  from  before  the  beautiful  but  terrible 
presence,  but  for  a  while  she  strove  in  vain.  The 
rich,  star-like  glance  still  riveted  her  own,  and  the 
subtle  fascination  kept  her  bound.  The  mental  ener- 
gies, however,  with  the  moment  of  their  greatest  trial, 
now  gathered  suddenly  to  her  aid;  and,  with  a  desperate 
effort,  but  with  a  feeling  still  of  most  annoying  uncer- 
tainty and  dread,  she  succeeded  partially  in  the  attempt, 
and  leaned  backward  against  the  neighbouring  tree, 
feeble,  tottering,  and  depending  upon  it  for  that  support 
15* 


174  THE    YEMASSEE. 

which  her  own  limbs  almost  entirely  denied  her.  With 
her  movement,  however,  came  the  full  development 
of  the  powerful  spell  and  dreadful  mystery  before  her. 
As  her  feet  receded,  though  but  a  single  pace,  to  the 
tree  against  which  she  now  rested,  the  audibly  ar- 
ticulated ring,  like  that  of  a  watch  when  wound  up 
with  the  verge  broken,  announced  the  nature  of  that 
splendid  yet  dangerous  presence,  in  the  form  of  the 
monstrous  rattlesnake,  now,  but  a  few  feet  before  her, 
lying  coiled  at  the  bottom  of  a  beautiful  shrub,  with 
which,  to  her  dreaming  eye,  many  of  its  own  glorious 
hues  had  been  associated.  She  was  conscious  enough 
to  discriminate  and  to  perceive,  but  terror  had  denied 
her  the  strength  necessary  to  fly  from  her  dreadful 
enemy.  There  still  the  eye  glared  beautifully  bright 
and  piercing  upon  her  own ;  and,  seemingly  in  a 
spirit  of  sport,  he  slowly  unwound  himself  from  his 
coil,  then  immediately,  the  next  moment,  again  gathered 
himself  into  its  muscular  masses — the  rattle  still 
slightly  ringing  at  intervals,  and  giving  forth  that  para- 
lyzing sound,  which,  once  heard,  is  remembered  for 
ever.  The  reptile  all  this  while  appeared  to  be  con- 
scious of,  and  to  sport  with,  while  seeking  to  excite 
her  terrors.  Now,  with  its  flat  head,  distended  mouth, 
and  curving  neck,  would  it  dart  forward  its  long 
form  towards  her, — its  fatal  teeth,  unfolding  on  either 
side  of  its  jaws,  seeming  to  threaten  her  with  in- 
stantaneous death,  while  its  powerful  eye  shot  forth 
glances  of  that  fatal  power  of  fascination,  malignantly 
bright,  which,  by  paralyzing  with  a  novel  form  of 
terror  and  of  beauty,  may  readily  account  for  the 
spell  it  possesses  of  binding  the  feet  of  the  timid,  and 
denying  to  fear  even  the  privilege  of  flight.  Then, 
the  next  moment,  recovering  quickly,  it  would  resume 
its  folds,  and  with  arching  neck,  which  now  glittered 
like  a  bar  of  brazed  copper,  and  fixed  eye,  continue, 
calmly  as  it  were,  to  contemplate  the  victim  of  its 
secreted  venom — the  pendulous  rattle  still  ringing  the 
death-note  as  if  to  prepare  the  conscious  mind  for  the 
fate  which  was  at  hand.     Its  various  folds  were  now 


THE    YEMASSEE.  175 

complete — the  coil  forming  a  series  of  knots — the 
muscles,  now  and  then,  rising  rigidly  into  a  hill,  now 
corded  down  by  the  pressure  of  another  of  its  folds 
into  a  valley.  These  suddenly  unclasping,  in  the  gen- 
eral effort  to  strike  its  enemy,  give  it  that  degree  of  im- 
petus which  enables  it  to  make  its  stroke  as  fatal, 
at  the  full  extent  of  its  own  length,  as  when,  suddenly 
invaded,  its  head  is  simply  elevated  and  the  blow  given. 
The  glance  of  Bess  Matthews  at  this  moment  upon 
her  enemy,  assured  her  that  the  sport  of  the  deadly 
reptile  was  about  to  cease.  She  could  not  now  mis- 
take the  fearful  expression  of  its  eye.  She  strove  to 
scream,  but  her  voice  died  away  in  her  throat.  Her 
lips  were  sealed — she  sought  to  fly,  but  her  limbs  were 
palsied — she  had  nothing  left  of  life  but  its  conscious- 
ness ;  and  in  despair  of  escape,  with  a  single  scream, 
forced  from  her  by  the  accumulated  agony,  she  sunk 
down  upon  the  grass  before  her  enemy — her  eyes, 
however,  still  open,  and  still  looking  upon  those 
which  he  directed  for  ever  upon  them.  She  saw  him 
approach — now  advancing,  now  receding — now  swell- 
ing in  every  part  with  something  of  anger,  while  his 
neck  was  arched  beautifully  like  that  of  a  wild  horse 
underthecurb;  until,  at  length,  tired  as  it  were  of  play, 
like  the  cat  with  its  victim,  she  saw  the  neck  growing 
larger  and  becoming  completely  bronzed  when  about 
to  strike — the  huge  jaws  unclosing  almost  directly 
above  her,  the  long  tubulated  fang,  charged  with  venom, 
protruding  from  the  cavernous  mouth — and  she  saw  no 
more !  Insensibility  came  to  her  aid,  and  she  lay 
almost  lifeless  under  the  very  folds  of  the  monster.  In 
that  moment  the  copse  parted — and  an  arrow,  piercing 
him  through  and  through  the  neck,  bore  his  head  for- 
ward to  the  ground,  alongside  of  the  maiden,  while  his 
spiral  extremities,  now  unfolding  in  his  own  agony, 
were  actually,  in  part,  resting  upon  her  person.  The 
arrow  came  from  the  fugitive  Occonestoga,  who  had 
fortunately  reached  the  spot,  in  season,  on  his  way  to 
the  Block  House.  He  rushed  from  the  copse,  as  the 
snake  fell,  and,  with  a  stick,  fearlessly  approached  him 


176  THE    YEMASSEE. 

where  he  lay  writhing  upon  the  grass.  Seeing  him 
advance,  the  courageous  reptile  made  an  effort  to 
regain  his  coil,  while  shaking  the  fearful  rattle  vio- 
lently at  every  evolution  which  he  took  for  that  pur- 
pose ;  but  the  arrow,  completely  passing  through  his 
neck,  opposed  an  unyielding  obstacle  to  the  endeavour; 
and  finding  it  hopeless,  and  seeing  the  new  enemy 
about  to  assault  him,  with  something  of  the  spirit  of 
the  white  man  under  like  circumstances,  he  turned 
recklessly  round,  and  striking  his  charged  fangs,  so 
that  they  were  riveted  in  the  wound  they  made,  into 
a  susceptible  part  of  his  own  body,  he  threw  himself 
over  upon  his  back  with  a  single  convulsion,  and 
a  moment  after,  lay  dead  upon  the  person  of  the 
maiden.* 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"  Come  with  me  ;  thou  shalt  hear  of  my  resolve, 
Then  hasten  to  thy  labour." 

Without  giving  more  than  a  single  glance  to  the 
maiden,  Occonestoga  approached  the  snake,  and,  draw- 
ing his  knife,  prepared  to  cut  away  the  rattles,  always 
a  favourite  Indian   ornament,  which   terminated   his 

*  The  power  of  the  rattlesnake  to  fascinate,  is  a  frequent  faith 
among  the  superstitious  of  the  southern  country-people.  Of  this 
capacity  in  reference  to  birds  and  insects,  frogs,  and  the  smaller  rep- 
tiles, there  is  indeed  little  question.  Its  power  over  persons  is  not  so 
well  authenticated,  although  numberless  instances  of  this  sort  are 
given  by  persons  of  very  excellent  veracity.  The  above  is  almost  liter- 
ally worded  after  a  verbal  narrative  furnished  the  author  by  an  old 
iady,  who  never  dreamed,  herself,  of  doubting  the  narration.  It  is  more 
Jhan  probable,  indeed,  that  the  mind  of  a  timid  person,  coming  sud- 
denly upon  a  reptile  so  highly  venomous,  would  for  a  time  be  para- 
lyzed by  its  consciousness  of  danger,  sufficiently  so  to  defeat  exertion 
».ir  a  while,  and  deny  escape.  The  authorities  for  this  superstition 
ere,  however,  quite  sufficient  for  the  romancer,  and  in  a  work  like  the 
present,  we  need  no  other. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  177 

elongated  folds.  He  approached  his  victim  with  a 
deportment  the  most  respectful,  and,  after  the  manner 
of  his  people,  gravely,  and  in  the  utmost  good  faith, 
apologized  in  well  set  terms,  in  his  own  language,  for 
the  liberty  he  had  already  taken,  and  that  which  he 
was  then  about  to  take.  He  protested  the  necessity 
he  had  been  under  in  destroying  it ;  and  urging  his 
desire  to  possess  the  excellent  and  only  evidence 
of  his  own  prowess  in  conquering  so  great  a  warrior, 
which  the  latter  carried  at  his  tail,  he  proceeded  to  cut 
away  the  rattles  with  as  much  tenderness  as  could 
have  been  shown  by  the  most  considerate  operator, 
divesting  a  fellow-creature,  still  living,  of  his  limbs. 
A  proceeding  like  this,  so  amusing  as  it  would  seem 
to  us,  is  readily  accounted  for,  when  we  consider  the 
prevailing  sentiment  among  the  Indians  in  reference  to 
the  rattlesnake.  With  them  he  is  held  the  gentleman, 
the  nobleman — the  very  prince  of  snakes.  His  attri- 
butes are  devoutly  esteemed  among  them,  and  many  of 
their  own  habits  derive  their  existence  from  models 
furnished  by  his  peculiarities.  He  is  brave,  will  never 
fly  from  an  enemy,  and  for  this  they  honour  him.  If 
approached,  he  holds  his  ground  and  is  never  unwil 
ling  for  the  combat. — He  does  not  begin  the  affray, 
and  is  content  to  defend  himself  against  invasion.  He 
will  not  strike  without  due  warning  of  his  intention, 
and  when  he  strikes,  the  blow  of  his  weapon  is  fatal. 
It  is  highly  probable,  indeed,  that  even  the  war-whoop 
with  which  the  Indians  preface  their  own  onset,  has 
been  borrowed  from  the  rattling  warning  of  this  fatal, 
but  honourable  enemy.* 

*  This  respect  of  the  Indians  for  the  rattlesnake,  leading  most 
■usually  to  much  forbearance  when  they  encountered  him,  neces 
sarily  resulted  in  the  greater  longevity  of  this  snake  than  of  any 
other.  In  some  cases,  they  have  been  found  so  overgrown  from 
this  indulgence,  as  to  be  capable  of  swallowing  entire  a  good-sized 
fawn.  An  instance  of  this  description  has  been  related  by  the 
early  settlers  of  South  Carolina,  and,  well  authenticated,  is  to  be 
found  on  record.  The  movements  of  the  rattlesnake  are  usually 
very  slow,  and  the  circumstance  of  his  taking  prey  so  agile  as  the 
fawn,  would  be  something  in  favour  of  an  extensive  fascinating 
faculty.  That  he  takes  birds  with  some  such  influence  there  is  no 
*ort  of  question. 


178  THE    YEMASSEE. 

Many  minutes  had  not  elapsed  before  the  operation 
was  completed,  and  the  Indian  became  the  possessor 
of  the  desired  trophy.  The  snake  had  thirteen  rattles, 
and  a  button,  or  bastard  rattle ;  it  was  therefore  four- 
teen years  old — as  it  acquires  the  button  during  its 
first  year,  and  each  succeeding  year  yields  it  a  new  rat- 
tle. As  he  drew  the  body  of  the  serpent  from  that  of 
Bess  Matthews,  her  eyes  unclosed,  though  but  for  an 
instant.  The  first  object  in  her  gaze  was  the  swollen 
and  distorted  reptile,  which  the  Indian  was  just  then 
removing  from  her  person.  Her  terror  was  aroused 
anew,  and  with  a  single  shriek  she  again  closed  her 
eyes  in  utter  unconsciousness.  At  that  moment,  Har- 
rison darted  down  the  path.  That  single  shriek  had 
given  wings  to  his  movement,  and  rushing  forward  and 
beholding  her  clasped  in  the  arms  of  Occonestoga, 
who,  at  her  cry,  had  come  to  her  support,  and  had 
raised  her  partially  from  the  ground — he  sprang  fiercely 
upon  him,  tore  her  from  his  hold,  and  sustaining  her 
with  one  hand,  wielded  his  hatchet  fiercely  in  the 
other  above  his  own  head,  while  directing  its  edge 
down  upon  that  of  the  Indian.  Occonestoga  looked 
up  indifferently,  almost  scornfully,  and  without  exhibit- 
ing any  desire  or  making  any  show  for  his  own  defence 
or  protection.  This  exhibition  of  recklessness  ar- 
rested the  blow  of  Harrison,  who  now  addressed  him 
in  tones  of  anxious  inquiry  : — 

"  Speak,  what  is  this — speak,  Occonestoga,  or  I 
strike." 

"  Strike,  Harrison  ! — the  hatchet  is  good  for  Occo- 
nestoga. He  has  a  death-song  that  is  good.  He  can 
die  like  a  man." 

"  What  hast  thou  done  with  the  maiden — tell  me, 
Occonestoga,  ere  I  hew  thee  down  like  a  dog." 

"  Occonestoga  is  a  dog.  Sanutee,  the  father  of  Oc- 
conestoga, says  he  is  the  dog  of  the  English.  There 
is  no  fork  in  the  tongue  of  Sanutee.  The  war-rattle 
put  his  eye  on  the  girl  of  the  pale-face,  and  she  cried. 
Look,  Harrison,  it  is  the  arrow  of  Occonestoga,"  and 
as  he  spoke  he  pointed  to  the  shaft  which  still  stuck 


THE    YEMASSEE.  179 

in  the  neck  of  the  serpent.  Harrison,  who  before 
had  not  seen  the  snake,  which  the  Indian  had  thrown 
aside  under  a  neighbouring  bush,  now  shivered  as 
with  a  convulsion,  while,  almost  afraid  to  speak,  and 
his  face  paling  like  death  as  he  did  so,  he  cried  to 
him  in  horror:— 

"  God  of  Heaven— speak,  Occonestoga — speak — is 
she  struck — is  she  struck  ?"  and  before  he  could  hear 
the  reply,  bis  tremours  were  so  great  that  he  was  com- 
pelled to  lay  the  still  insensible  form  of  the  maiden, 
unequal  then  to  her  support,  upon  the  grass  beside' 
him. 

The  Indian  smiled  with  something  of  a  scornful  sat- 
isfaction as  he  replied — 

"  It  was  the  swift  arrow  of  Occonestoga — and  the 
war-rattle  had  no  bite  for  the  girl  of  the  pale-faces. 
The  blood  is  good  in  her  heart." 

"Thank  God— thank  God!  Young  chief  of  the 
Yemassees,  I  thank  thee— I  thank  thee,  Occonestoga— 
thou  shalt  have  a  rich  gift — a  noble  reward  for  this ;" 
and  seizing  the  hand  of  the  savage  wildly,  he  pressed 
it  with  a  tenacious  gripe  that  well  attested  the  sinceri- 
ty of  his  feelings.  But  the  gloom  of  the  savage  was 
too  deeply  driven  into  his  spirit  by  his  recent  treat- 
ment and  fugitive  privations,  to  experience  much  pleas- 
ure either  from  the  proffered  friendship  or  the  prom- 
ised reward  of  the  English.  He  had  some  feeling  of 
nationality  left,  which  a  return  to  sobriety  always 
made  active. 

"  Occonestoga  is  a  dog,"  said  he,  "  death  for  Occo- 
nestoga !" 

For  a  moment,  Harrison  searched  him  narrowly 
with  his  eye,  but  as  he  saw  in  his  look  nothing  but  the 
one  expression  with  which  -an  Indian  in  the  moment 
of  excitement  conceals  all  others,  of  sullen  indiffer- 
ence to  all  things  around  him,  he  forbore  further  re- 
mark, and  simply  demanded  assistance  in  the  recovery 
of  the  maiden.  Water  was  brought,  and  after  a  few 
moments  her  lover  had  the  satisfaction  of  noting  her 
returning  consciousness.     The  colour  came  back  to 


180  THE    YEMASSEE 

her  cheeks,  her  eyes  opened  upon  the  light,  her  tip* 
murmured  in  prayer, — a  prayer  for  protection,  as  it* 
she  still  felt  the  dangers  from  which  she  had  escaped 
so  happily.  But  the  glance  of  her  lover  reassured 
her, 

"  Oh,  Gabriel,  such  a  dream — such  a  horrible  dream," 
and  she  shuddered  and  looked  anxiously  around  her. 

"  Ay,  dearest,  such  as  I  never  desire  that  you  shall 
have  again.  But  fear  not.  You  are  now  safe  and 
entirely  unhurt.  Thanks  to  our  brave  friend  Occo- 
nestoga  here,  whose  arrow  has  been  your  safety." 

"  Thanks,  thanks  to  thee,  chief — I  know  thee,  I  shall 
remember,"  and  she  looked  gratefully  to  the  Indian, 
whose  head  simply  nodded  a  recognition  of  her 
acknowledgment. 

"  But  where,  Gabriel,  is  the  monster  I  Oh  !  how 
its  eye  dazzled  and  insnared  me.  I  felt  as  if  my 
feet  were  tied,  and  my  knees  had  lost  all  their 
strength." 

"  There  he  lies,  Bess,  and  a  horrible  monster  indeed. 
See  there,  his  rattles,  thirteen  and  a  button — an  old 
snake  whose  blow  had  certainly  been  death  upon  the 
instant." 

The  maiden  shuddered  as  she  looked  upon  the  reptile 
to  whose  venom  she  had  so  nearly  fallen  a  victim. 
It  was  now  swollen  to  a  prodigious  size  from  the 
natural  effects  of  its  own  poison.  In  places  about 
its  body,  which  the  fatal  secretion  had  most  easily 
effected,  it  had  bulged  out  into  putrid  lumps,  almost  to 
bursting  ;  while,  from  one  end  to  the  other  of  its  at- 
tenuated length,  the  linked  diamonds  which  form  the 
ornament  of  its  back,  had,  from  the  original  dusky 
brown  and  sometimes  bronze  of  their  colour,  now 
assumed  a  complexion  of  spotted  green — livid  and  dis- 
eased. Its  eyes,  however,  had  not  yet  lost  all  of  that 
original  and  awful  brightness,  which,  when  looking 
forth  in  anger,  nothing  can  surpass  for  terrific  beauty 
of  expression.  The  powers  of  this  glance  none 
may  well  express,  and  few  imagine  ;  and  when  wo 
take  into  consideration  the  feeling  of  terror  with  which 


THE    YEMASSEE.  18l 

the  timid  mind  is  apt  to  contemplate  an  object  known 
to  be  so  fatal,  it  will  not  be  difficult  to  account  for  its 
possession  of  the  charm,  commonly  ascribed  to  this  rep 
tile  in  the  interior  of  the  southern  country,  by  which, 
it  is  the  vulgar  faith,  he  can  compel  the  bird  from  the 
highest  tree  to  leave  his  perch,  shrieking  with  fear  and 
full  of  the  most  dreadful  consciousness,  struggling  with 
all  the  power  of  its  wings,  and,  at  last,  after  every  effort 
has  proved  fruitless,  under  the  influence  of  that  un- 
swerving glance,  to  descend  even  into  the  jaws  which 
lie  waiting  to  receive  it.  Providence  in  this  way  has 
seemingly  found  it  necessary  to  clothe  even  with  a 
moral  power  the  evanescent  and  merely  animal  nature 
of  its  creation ;  and,  with  a  due  wisdom,  for,  as  the 
rattlesnake  is  singularly  slow  in  its  general  movements, 
it  might  suffer  frequently  from  want  of  food  unless  some 
such  power  had  been  assigned  it.  The  study  of  all 
nature  with  a  little  more  exactitude,  would  perhaps 
discover  to  us  an  enlarged  instinct  in  every  other  form 
of  life,  which  a  narrow  analysis  might  almost  set 
down  as  the  fullest  evidence  of  an  intellectual  exist- 
ence. 

The  interview  between  Harrison  and  Bess  Matthews 
had  been  especially  arranged  with  reference  to  a 
discussion  of  various  matters,  important  to  both,  and 
affecting  the  relations  which  existed  between  them. 
But  it  was  impossible  in  the  prostrate  and  nervous 
condition  in  which  he  found  her,  that  much  could  be 
thought  or  said  of  other  matters  than  those  which  had 
been  of  the  last  few  moments,  occurrence.  Still  they 
lingered,  and  still  they  strove  to  converse  on  their 
affairs  ;  despite  the  presence  of  Occonestoga,  who  sat 
patiently  at  the  foot  of  a  tree  without  show  of-  discon- 
tent or  sign  of  hunger,  though  for  a  term  of  at  least 
eighteen  hours  he  had  eaten  nothing.  In  this  lies  one 
of  the  chief  merits  of  an  Indian  warrior — 


"  Severe  the  school  that  made  him  bear 
The  ills  of  life  without  a  tear — 
And  stern  the  doctrine  that  denied 
The  chieftain  fame,  the  warrior  pride  ; 
I-  18 


182  THE    VEMASSEE. 

Who,  urged  by  nature's  wants,  express'd 
The  need  that  hunger'd  in  his  breast — 
Or,  when  beneath  his  foeman's  knife, 
Who  utter'd  recreant  prayer  for  life — 
Or,  in  the  chase,  whose  strength  was  spent, 
Or  in  the  fight  whose  knee  was  bent, 
Or,  when  with  tale  of  coining  fight 
Who  sought  his  allies'  lodge  by  night, 
And  ere  his  missives  well  were  told, 
Complained  of  hunger,  wet,  and  cold. 
A  woman,  if  in  fight  his  foe, 
Could  give,  yet  not  receive  a  blow — 
Or,  if  undext'rously  and  dull, 

His  hand  and  knife  had  failed  to  win 
The  dripping,  warm  scalp  from  the  scull, 

To  trim  his  yellow  mocquasin." 

Thus,  a  perfect  imbodiment  of  the  character,  so 
wrought  and  so  described,  Occonestoga,  calm,  sullen, 
and  stern,  sat  beneath  the  tree,  without  look  or  word 
significant  of  that  fatigue  and  hunger  under  which  he 
must  have  been  seriously  suffering.  He  surveyed  with 
something  like  scorn  those  evidences  between  the 
lovers  of  that  nice  and  delicate  affection  which  belongs 
only  to  the  highest  grades  of  civilization.  At  length* 
bidding  him  wait  his  return,  Harrison  took  the  way 
with  Bess,  who  was  now  sufficiently  restored  for  that 
purpose,  to  the  cottage  of  the  pastor.  It  was  not  long 
before  he  returned  to  the  savage,  whose  hand  he  again 
shook  cordially  and  affectionately,  while  repeating  his 
grateful  promise  of  reward.  Then  turning  to  a  subject 
at  that  time  strongly  present  in  his  mind,  he  inquired 
into  the  recent  demonstrations  of  his  people. 

"  Occonestoga,  what  news  is  this  of  the  Yemassee  ? 
He  is  angry,  is  he  not  ?" 

"  Angry  to  kill,  Harrison.  Is  not  the  scout  On  the 
path  of  Occonestoga — Occonestoga  the  son  of  Sanutee? 
— look  !  the  tomahawk  of  Sanutee  shook  in  the  eyes 
of  Occonestoga. — The  swift  foot,  the  close  bush,  the 
thick  swamp  and  the  water — they  were  the  friends 
of  Occonestoga.  Occonestoga  is  a  dog. — The  scouts 
of  Yemassee  look  for  him  in  the  swamps." 

"  You  must  be  hungry  and  weary,  Occonestoga. 
Come  with  me  to  the  Block  House,  where  there  are 
meat  and  drink." 


THE    YEMASSEE.  183 

"  Harrison  is  friend  to  Occonestoga." 

"  Surely  I  am,'1  was  the  reply. 

"  The  good  friend  will  kill  Occonestoga?"  was  the 
demand,  uttered  in  tones  of  more  solicitude  than  is 
common  to  the  Indian. 

"  No  ;  kill  you  ?  surely  not — why  should  I  kill 
you  ?" 

"  It  is  good !  knife  Occonestoga,  Englishman ;  put 
the  sharp  tooth  here,  in  his  heart,  for  the  father  of 
Occonestoga  has  a  curse  for  his  name — "  was  the 
solemn  imploration. 

"  No,  Occonestoga — no. — I  will  do  no  such  thing. 
Thou  shalt  live  and  do  well,  and  be  at  friendship  with 
thy  father  and  thy  people.  Come  with  me  to  the 
Block  House  and  get  something  to  eat.  We  will  there 
talk  over  this  affair  of  thy  people.  Come  ;"  and  with 
an  air  of  indifference,  the  melancholy  savage  followed 
his  conductor  to  the  Block  House,  where  the  trader  and 
his  wife  received  them. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

"  And  wherefore  sings  he  that  strange  song  of  death. 
That  song  of  sorrow  ?    Is  the  doom  at  hand  ? 
Stand  close  and  hear  him." 

The  wife  of  Granger  soon  provided  refreshments 
for  the  young  savage,  of  which  he  ate  sparingly, 
though  without  much  seeming  consciousness  of  what 
he  was  doing.  Harrison  did  not  trouble  him  much 
with  remark  or  inquiry,  but  busied  himself  in  looking 
after  some  of  the  preparations  for  defence  of  the 
building ;  and  for  this  purpose,  Hector  and  himself 
occupied  an  hour  in  the  apartment  adjoining  that  in 
which  the  household  concerns  of  Granger  were  carried 
on.  In  this  apartment  Hector  kept  Dugdale,  a  famous 
blood-hound,  supposed  to  have  been  brought  from  the 


184  THE    YEMASSEE. 

Caribbees,  which,  when  very  young,  Harrison  had 
bought  from  a  Spanish  trader.  This  dog  is  a  peculiar 
breed,  and  resembled  in  some  leading  respects  the 
Irish  wolf-hound,  while,  having  all  the  thirst  and  appe 
tite  for  blood  which  distinguished  the  more  ancient 
Slute  or  Sleuth-hound  of  the  Scots.  It  is  a  mistake  to 
suppose  that  the  Spaniards  brought  these  dogs  to 
America.  They  found  them  here,  actually  in  use  by 
the  Indians  and  for  like  purposes,  and  only  perfected 
their  training,  while  stimulating  them  in  the  pursuit  of 
man.  The  dog  Dugdale  had  been  partially  trained 
after  their  fashion  to  hunt  the  Indians,  and  even  under 
his  present  owner,  it  was  not  deemed  unbecoming 
that  he  should  be  prepared  for  the  purposes  of  war  upon 
the  savages,  by  the  occasional  exhibition  of  a  stuffed 
figure,  so  made  and  painted  as  to  resemble  a  naked 
Indian,  around  whose  neck  a  lump  of  raw  and  bleed- 
ing beef  was  occasionally  suspended.  This  was  shown 
him  while  chained, — from  any  near  approach  he  was 
withheld,  until  his  appetite  had  been  so  wrought  upon, 
that  longer  restraint  would  have  been  dangerous  and 
impossible.  The  training  of  these  dogs,  as  known  to 
the  early  French  and  Spanish  settlers,  by  both  of 
whom  they  were  in  common  use  for  the  purpose  of 
war  with  the  natives,  is  exceeding  curious  ;  and  so 
fierce  under  this  form  of  training  did  they  become  in 
process  of  time,  that  it  was  found  necessary  to  restrain 
them  in  cages  while  thus  stimulated,  until  the  call  to 
the  field,  and  the  prospect  of  immediate  strife  should 
give  an  opportunity  for  the  exercise  of  their  unallayed 
rapacity.  In  the  civil  commotions  of  Hayti,  the  most 
formidable  enemies  known  to  the  insurrectionists  were 
the  fierce  dogs  which  had  been  so  educated  by  the 
French.  A  curious  work,  found  in  the  Charleston 
Library,  devoted  to  the  history  of  that  time  and  prov- 
ince, is  illustrated  with  several  plates  which  show  the 
training  common  with  the  animal.  The  dog  of  Harrison 
had  not  however  been  greatly  exercised  by  his  present 
owner  after  this  fashion.  He  had  been  simply  required 
to  follow  and  attend  upon  his  master,  under  the  conduct 


THE    YEMASSEE.  185 

of  Hector,  for  both  of  whom  his  attachments  had  been 
singularly  strong.  But  the  early  lessons  of  his  Spanish 
masters  had  not  been  forgotten  by  Dugdale,  who,  in  the 
war  of  the  Carolinians  with  the  Coosaws,  following  his 
master  into  battle,  proved  an  unlooked-for  auxiliar  ot 
the  one,  and  an  enemy  whose  very  appearance  struck 
terror  into  the  other.  So  useful  an  ally  was  not  to  be 
neglected,  and  the  stuffed  figure  which  had  formed  a  part 
of  the  property  of  the  animal  in  the  sale  by  his  Spanish 
master,  was  brought  into  occasional  exercise  and  use, 
under  the  charge  of  Hector,  in  confirming  Dugdale's 
warlike  propensities.  In  this  exercise,  with  the  figure 
of  a  naked  Indian  perched  against  one  corner,  and  a 
part  of  a  deer's  entrails  hanging  around  his  neck, 
Hector,  holding  back  the  dog  by  a  stout  rope  drawn 
around  a  beam,  the  better  to  embarrass  him  at  pleasure, 
was  stimulating  at  the  same  time  his  hunger  and 
ferocity. 

"  Does  Dugdale  play  to-day,  Hector  V  inquired  his 
master. 

"  He  hab  fine  sperits,  mossa — berry  fine  sperits.  I 
kin  hardly  keep  'em  in.  See  da,  now, — "  and,  as  the 
slave  spoke,  the  dog  broke  away,  dragging  the  rope  sud- 
denly through  the  hands  of  the  holder,  and,  without  re- 
marking the  meat,  ran  crouching  to  the  feet  of  Harrison. 

"  Him  nebber  forget  you,  mossa,  ebber  sense  you 
put  you  hand  down  he  troat." 

Harrison  snapped  his  fingers,  and  motioning  with  his 
hand  to  the  Weeding  bowels  of  the  deer  around  the 
neck  of  the  figure,  the  hound  sprung  furiously  upon  it, 
and  dragging  it  to  the  floor,  planted  himself  across 
the  body,  while,  with  his  formidable  teeth,  he  tore  away 
the  bait  from  the  neck  where  it  was  wound,  lacerating 
the  figure  at  every  bite,  in  a  manner  which  would  have 
soon  deprived  the  living  man  of  all  show  of  life. 
Having  given  some  directions  to  the  slave,  Harrison 
returned  to  the  apartment  where  he  had  left  the  Indian. 

Occonestoga  sat  in  a  corner  mournfully  croning 
over,  in  an  uncouth  strain,  something  of  a  song,  rude, 
sanguinary,  in  his  own  wild  language.  Something  of 
16* 


1S6  THE    YEMASSEE. 

• 

ihe  language  was  known  to  Harrison,  but  not  enough 
to  comprehend  the  burden  of  what  he  sung.  But  the 
look  and  the  manner  of  the  savage  were  so  solemn  and 
imposing,  so  foreign,  yet  so  full  of  dignified  thought, 
that  the  Englishman  did  not  venture  to  interrupt  him. 
He  turned  to  Granger,  who,  with  his  wife,  was  partially 
employed  in  one  corner  of  the  apartment,  folding  up 
some  of  his  wares  and  burnishing  others. 

"  What  does  he  sing,  Granger  1"  he  asked  of  the 
trader. 

"His  death-song,  sir. — It  is  something  very  strange 
— but  he  has  been  at  it  noV  for  some  time  ;  and  the 
Indian  does  not  employ  that  song  unless  with  a  near 
prospect  of  death.  He  has  probably  had  some  dream 
or  warning,  and  they  are  very  apt  to  believe  in  such 
things." 

"  Indeed — his  death-song — "  murmured  Harrison, 
while  he  listened  attentively  to  the  low  chant  which 
the  Indian  still  kept  up.  At  his  request,  forbearing  his 
labour,  Granger  listened  also,  and  translated  at  inter- 
vals the  purport  of  many  of  the  stanzas. 

"  What  is  the  Seratee,"  in  his  uncouth  lyric,  sung 
the  melancholy  Indian — 

"  What  is  the  Seratee  ? — 
He  is  but  a  dog 
Sneaking  in  the  long  grass — 
I  have  stood  before  him, 
And  he  did  not  look- 
By  his  hair  I  took  him, 

By  the  single  tuft —  • 

From  his  head  1  tore  it, 

With  it  came  the  scalp, — 

On  my  thigh  I  wore  it — 

With  the  chiefs  I  stood, 

And  they  gave  me  honour, 

Made  of  me  a  chief. 

To  the  sun  they  held  me, 

And  aloud  the  prophet 

Bade  me  be  a  chief — 

Chief  of  all  the  Yemassees — ! 

Feather  chief  and  arrow  chief — 

Chief  of  ail  the  Yemassees." 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  uncouth  verse,  he  pro- 
ceeded in  a  different  tone  and  manner,  and  his  oresent 


THE    YEMAS3EE.  187 

form  of  speech  constituted  a  break  or  pause  in  the 
song. 

"  That  Opitchi-Manneyto — wherefore  is  he  wroth 
with  the  young  chief  who  went  on  the  war-path  against 
the  Seratee.  He  made  siaves  for  him  from  the  dogs  of 
the  long  grass.  Let  Opitchi-Manneyto  hear.  Occo- 
nestoga is  a  brave  chief, — he  hath  struck  his  hatchet 
into  the  lodge  of  the  Savannah,  when  there  was  a  full 
sun  in  the  forests." 

"  Now,"  said  Granger,  "  he  is  going  to  tell  us  of 
another  of  his  achievements."  Occonestoga  went 
on — 


"  Hear,  Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Hear  Occonestoga  speak — 
Who  of  the  Savannah  stood 
In  the  council,  in  the  fight — 
With  the  gallant  Suwannee?— 
Bravest  he,  of  all  the  brave, 

(   Like  an  arrow  path  in  fight — 
When  he  came,  his  tomahawk — 
(Hear,  Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Not  a  forked  tongue  is  mine—) 
Frighted  the  brave  Yemassee — 
Till  Occonestoga  came — 
Till  Occonestoga  stood 
Face  to  face  with  Suwannee, 
By  the  old  Satilla  swamp. 
Then  his  eyes  were  in  the  mud — 
With  these  hands,  I  tore  away 
The  war  ringlet  from  his  head — 
With  it  came  the  bleeding  scalp — 
Suwannee  is  in  the  mud  ; 
Frighted  back,  his  warriors  run, 
Left  him  buried  in  the  mud — 
Ho  !  the  gray-wolf  speaks  aloud, 
Hear  Opitchi-Manneyto ; 
He  had  plenty  food  that  night, 
And  for  me  he  speaks  aloud — 
Suwannee  is  in  his  jaw — ■ 
Look  Opitchi-Manneyto — 
See  him  tear  Suwannee's  side, 
See  him  drink  Suwannee's  blood — 
With  his  paw  upon  his  breast, 
Look,  he  pulls  the  heart  away, 
And  his  nose  is  searching  deep, 
Clammy,  thick  with  bloody  drink. 
In  the  hollow  where  it  lay. 
Look,  Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Look,  the  gray-wolf  speaks  for  me.'' 


188  THE    YEMASSEE. 

Then  after  this  wild  and  barbarous  chant  which, 
verse  after  verse,  Granger  rendered  to  Harrison,  a 
pause  of  a  few  moments  was  suffered  to  succeed,  in 
which,  all  the  while  in  the  profoundest  silence,  the 
young  warrior  continued  to  wave  his  head  backward 
and  forward  at  regular  intervals. 

"  He  has  had  a  warning  certainly,  captain, — I  have 
seen  them  frequently  go  on  so.     Stop — he  begins  !" 

Not  singing,  but  again  addressing  the  evil  deity, 
Occonestoga  began  with  the  usual  adjuration. 

"  Arrows  and  feathers,  burnt  arrows  and  feathers — 
a  bright  flame  for  thee,  Opitchi-Manneyto.  Look  not 
dark  upon  the  young  brave  of  Yemassee :  Hear  his 
song  of  the  war-path  and  the  victory" — and  again  he 
chanted  something  which  seemed  to  be  more  national, 
in  a  more  sounding  and  elevated  strain,  and  which,  in 
the  translation  of  Granger,  necessarily  lost  much  of  its 
native  sublimitv. 

"  Mighty  is  the  Yemassee, 
Strong  in  the  trial, 
Fearless  in  the  strife, 
Terrible  in  wrath — 
Look,  Opitchi-Manneyto — 
He  is  like  the  rush  of  clouds, 
He  is  like  the  storm  by  night, 
When  the  tree-top  bends  and  shivers, 
When  the  lodge  goes  down. 
The  Westo  and  the  Edisto, 
What  are  they  to  him  ? — 
Like  the  brown  leaves  to  the  cold, 
Look,  they  shrink  before  his  touch, 
Shrink  and  shiver  as  he  comes — 
Mighty  is  the  Yemassee." 

Harrison  now  ventured  to  interrupt  the  enthusiastic 
but  still  sullen  warrior.  He  interrupted  him  with  a 
compliment,  confirming  that  which  he  had  himself  been 
uttering  to  the  prowess  of  his  nation. 

"  That  is  a  true  song,  Occonestoga — that  in  praise 
of  your  nation.  They  are  indeed  a  brave  people ; 
but  I  fear  under  wild  management  now.  But  come — 
here  is  some  drink,  it  will  strengthen  you." 

"  It  is  good,"  said  he,  drinking — "  it  is  good — good 
for  strength.     The  English  is  a  friend  to  Occonestoga.'* 


THE    YEMASSEE.  189 

"  We  have  always  tried  to  be  so,  Occonestoga,  as 
you  should  know  by  this  time.  But  speak  to  me  of 
Pocota-ligo.  What  have  the  people  been  doing  there  1 
What  maddens  them,  and  wherefore  should  they  grow 
angry  with  their  English  brothers  ?" 

"  The  Yemassee  is  like  the  wolf — she  smells  blood 
on  the  track  of  the  hunter,  when  the  young  cub  is  car- 
ried away.  He  is  blind,  like  the  rattlesnake,  with  the 
poison  of  the  long  sleep,  when  he  first  comes  out  in  the 
time  of  the  green  corn.  He  wants  blood  to  drink — 
he  would  strike  the  enemy." 

"  I  see.  The  Yemassees  are  impatient  of  peace. 
They  would  go  upon  the  war-path,  and  strike  the  Eng- 
lish as  their  enemies.  Is  this  what- you  think,  Oc- 
conestoga ?" 

"  Harrison  speaks  !  The  English  is  a  friend  to 
Yemassee,  but  Yemassee  will  not  hear  the  word  of 
Occonestoga.  Sanutee  says  the  tongue  of  Occones- 
toga has  a  fork — he  speaks  in  two  voices." 

"  They  are  mad,  young  brave — but  not  so  mad,  I 
think,  as  to  go  on  the  war-path  without  an  object.  At 
this  moment  they  could  not  hope  to  be  successful,  and 
would  find  it  destructive." 

"  The  thought  of  Occonestoga  is  here.  They  will 
go  on  the  war-path  against  the  English." 

"  Ha  !— If  you  think  so,  Occonestoga,  you  must  be 
our  friend." 

"  Cha !  Cha !  Occonestoga  is  too  much  friend  to 
the  English." 

"  Not  too  much,  not  too  much — not  more  than  they 
will  well  reward  you  for." 

"  Will  the  strong  water  of  the  English  make  Oc- 
conestoga to  be  the  son  of  Sanutee  ?  Will  the  meat 
carry  Occonestoga  to  the  young  braves  of  the  Yemas- 
see 1  Will  they  sleep  till  he  speaks  for  them  to  wake  1 
Look,  Harrison,  the  death-song  is  made  for  Occones- 
toga." 

"  Not  so — there  is  no  cause  yet  for  you  to  sing  the 
death-song  of  the  young  warrior." 

"  Occonestoga  has  said  ! — he  has  seen — it  came 
to  him  when  he  ate  meat  from  the  hands  of  the  trader." 


190  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  Ah !  that  is  all  owing  to  your  fatigue  and  hunger, 
Occonestoga.  You  have  long  years  of  life  before  you, 
and  still  have  some  services  to  perform  for  your  friends 
the  English.  You  must  find  out  for  us  certainly 
whether  your  people  mean  to  go  on  the  war-path  or 
not — where  they  will  strike  first,  and  when  ;  and  above 
all,  whether  any  other  tribes  join  with  them.  You 
must  go  for  us  back  to  Pocota-ligo.  You  must  watch 
the  steps  of  the  chiefs,  and  bring  word  of  what  they 
intend." 

An  overpowering  sense  of  his  own  shame  as  he 
listened  to  this  requisition  of  Harrison,  forced  his  head 
down  his  bosom,  while  the  gloom  grew  darker  upon 
his  face.     At  length  he  exclaimed — 

"  It  is  no  good  talk :  Occonestoga  is  a  dog.  The 
tomahawk  of  Sanutee  is  good  for  a  dog." 

"  Wherefore  this,  young  chief  of  the  Yemassee  1 — 
What  mean  you  by  this  speech  ?" 

"  Young  chief  of  Yemassee  !"  exclaimed  the  sav- 
age, repeating  the  phrase  of  Harrison  as  if  in  derision 
— "  said  you  not  the  young  chief  of  Yemassee  should 
hunt  his  people  like  a  dog  in  the  cover  of  the  bush  ?" 

"  Not  like  a  dog,  Occonestoga,  but  like  a  good  friend, 
as  well  to  the  English  as  to  the  Yemassee.  Is  not 
peace  good  for  both  ?  It  is  peace,  not  war,  that  the 
English  desire  ;  but  if  there  be  war,  Occonestoga,  they 
will  take  all  the  scalps  of  your  nation." 

"  The  English  must  look  to  his  own  scalp,"  cried 
the  young  man,  fiercely, — "  the  hand  of  Yemassee  is 
ready ; — "  and  as  he  spoke,  for  a  moment  his  eye 
lightened  up,  and  his  form  rose  erect  from  the  place 
where  he  had  been  sitting,  while  a  strong  feeling  of 
nationality  in  his  bosom  aroused  him  into  something 
like  the  warlike  show  of  an  eloquent  chief  inspiriting 
his  tribe  for  the  fight.  But  Granger,  who  had  been 
watchful,  came  forward  with  a  cup  of  spirits,  which, 
without  a  word,  he  now  handed  him.  The  youth  seized 
it  hurriedly,  drank  it  off  at  a  single  effort,  and,  in  that 
act,  the  momentary  enthusiasm  which  had  lightened 
up,  with  a  show  of  still  surviving  consciousness  and 


THE    YEMASSEE.  191 

soul,  the  otherwise  desponding  and  degraded  features, 
passed  away ;  and  sinking  again  into  his  seat,  he  re- 
plied to  the  other  portion  of  the  remark  of  Harrison. 

"  It  is  well,  what  the  English  speaks.  Peace  is 
good — peace  for  the  Yemassee — peace  for  the  Eng- 
lish— peace — peace  for  Occonestoga — Occonestoga 
speaks  for  peace." 

"  Then  let  Occonestoga  do  as  I  wish  him.  Let  him 
go  this  very  night  to  Pocota-ligo.  Let  his  eye  take  the 
track  of  the  chiefs,  and  look  at  their  actions.  Let  him 
come  back  to-morrow,  and  say  all  that  he  has  seen, 
and  claim  his  reward  from  the  English." 

"  There  is  death  for  Occonestoga  if  the  Yemassee 
scout  finds  his  track  " 

"  But  the  young  chief  has  an  eye  like  the  hawk — a 
foot  like  the  sneaking  panther,  and  a  body  limber  as  the 
snake.  He  can  see  his  enemy  afar — he  can  hide  in 
the  thick  bush — he  can  lie  still  under  the  dead  timber 
when  the  hunter  steps  over  it." 

"  And  rise  to  strike  him  in  the  heel  like  the  yellow- 
belly  moccasin.  Yes  !  The  young  chief  is  a  great 
warrior — the  Seratee  is  a  dog,  the  Savannah  is  a  dog 
— Look,  his  legs  have  the  scalp  of  Suwannee  and 
Chareco.     Occonestoga  is  a  great  warrior." 

The  vanity  of  the  savage  once  enlisted,  and  his 
scruples  were  soon  overcome.  An  additional  cup  of 
spirits  which  Granger  again  furnished  him,  concluded 
the  argument,  and  he  now  avowed  himself  ready  for 
the  proposed  adventure.  His  preparations  were  soon 
completed,  and  when  the  night  had  fairly  set  in,  the 
fugitive  was  again  within  the  boundary  lines  of  his 
nation  ;  and  cautiously  thridding  his  way,  with  all  the 
skill  and  cunning  of  an  Indian,  among  the  paths  of  the 
people  whom  he  had  so  grievously  incensed.  He 
knew  the  danger,  but  he  was  vain  of  his  warrior  and 
hunter  skill. — He  did  not  fear  death,  for  it  is  the  habit- 
ual practice  of  the  Indian's  thought  to  regard  it  as  a 
part  of  his  existence  ;  and  his  dying  ceremonies,  other- 
wise, form  no  inconsiderable  part  of  the  legacy  of 
renown  which  is  left  to  his  children.     But  had  he 


192  THE    YEMASSEE. 

known  the  doom  which  had  been  pronounced  against 
him,  along  with  the  other  chiefs,  and  which  had  been 
already  executed  upon  them  by  the  infuriated  people, 
he  had  never  ventured  for  an  instant  upon  so  dangerous 
a  commission. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"  What  love  is  like  a  mother's  1    You  may  break 
The  heart  that  holds  it — you  may  trample  it 
In  shame  and  sorrow  ;  but  you  may  not  tear 
One  single  link  away  that  keeps  it  there." 

Half  conscious  only  of  his  design  at  starting,  the 
young  and  profligate  savage,  on  crossing  to  the  oppo- 
site shore,  which  he  did  "just  at  the  Block  House, 
grew  more  sensible,  not  only  in  reference  to  the  object 
of  his  journey,  but  to  the  dangers  which  necessarily 
came  along  with  it.  Utterly  ignorant,  as  yet,  of  that 
peculiar  and  unusual  doom  which  had  been  pronounced 
against  himself  and  the  other  chiefs,  and  already  exe- 
cuted upon  them,  he  had  yet  sufficient  reason  to  appre- 
hend that,  if  taken,  his  punishment,  death  probably, 
would  be  severe  enough.  Apprehending  this  proba- 
bility, the  fear  which  it  inspired  was  not  however 
sufficient  to  discourage  him  from  an  adventure  which, 
though  pledged  for  its  performance  in  a  moment  of 
partial  inebriation,  was  yet  held  by  the  unconventional 
and  simple  Indian  to  be  all-binding  upon  him.  Firmly 
resolved,  therefore,  upon  the  fulfilment  of  his  promise 
to  Harrison,  who,  with  Granger  and  others,  had  often 
before  employed  him,  though  on  less  dangerous  mis- 
sions, he  went  forward,  preparing  to  watch  the  progress 
of  events  among  the  Yemassees,  and  to  report  duly 
the  nature  of  their  warlike  proceedings. 

The  aim  of  Harrison  was  preparation,  and  the  pur- 
pose was  therefore  of  the  highest  importance  upon 


THE    YEMaSSEE.  193 

which  Occonestoga  had  been  sent.  The  generally 
exposed  situation  of  the  whole  frontier  occupied  by  the 
whites,  with  the  delay  and  difficulty  of  warlike  prepara- 
tion, rendered  every  precautionary  measure  essential  on 
the  part  of  the  Carolinians.  For  this  reason,  a  due  and 
proper  intelligence  of  the  means,  designs,  and  strength 
of  their  adversaries,  became  more  absolutely  important ; 
particularly  as  the  capricious  nature  of  savage  affections 
makes  it  doubtful  whether  they  can,  for  any  length  of 
time,  continue  in  peace  and  friendship.  How  far  Occo- 
nestoga may  stand  excused  for  the  part  which  he  had 
taken  against  his  countrymen,  whatever  may  have  been 
the  character  of  their  cause,  is  a  question  not  neces- 
sary for  our  consideration  here.  It  is  certain  that  the 
degradation  consequent  upon  his  intemperance  had 
greatly  contributed  towards  blunting  that  feeling  of 
nationality,  which  is  no  small  part  of  the  honest  boast 
of  every  Indian  warrior. 

Night  had  fairly  shrouded  the  forest  when  the  young 
chief  commenced  his  journey.  But  he  knew  the  path, 
by  night  as  by  day,  with  a  familiarity  begun  in  child- 
hood. His  ear,  quick,  keen,  and  discriminating  by  his 
education,  could  distinguish  between  and  identify  the 
movement  of  every  native  of  the  woodland  cover.  He 
knew  the  slight  and  hurried  rustle  of  the  black  snake, 
from  the  slow,  dignified  sweep  of  the  rattle  ;  and,  drunk 
or  sober,  the  bear  in  the  thicket,  or  the  buck  bounding 
along  the  dry  pine-land  ridge,  was  never  mistaken, 
one  for  the  other,  by  our  forest  warrior.  These,  as 
they  severally  crossed  or  lay  in  his  path — for  the  rattle- 
snake moves  at  his  own  pleasure — he  drove  aside  or 
avoided  ;  and  when  contradictory  sounds  met  his  ear, 
doubtful  in  character  or  significant  of  some  dangerous 
proximity,  then  would  the  warrior  sink  down  into  the 
bush  or  under  the  cover  of  the  fallen  tree,  or  steal  away 
nto  the  sheltering  shadow  of  the  neighbouring  copse, 
without  so  much  as  a  breath  or  whisper.  Such  pre- 
cautions as  these  became  more  and  more  necessary  as 
he  drew  nigher  to  the  homestead  of  his  people.  The 
traces  of  their  presence  thickened  momently  around 
Vol.  I.  17 


194  THE    YEMASSEE. 

him.  Now  the  torch  flared  across  his  eye,  and  now 
the  hum  of  voices  came  with  the  sudden  gust;  and,  more 
than  once,  moving  swiftly  across  his  path,  wound  a 
dusky  figure  like  his  own,  bent  upon  some  secret  quest, 
and  watchful  like  himself  to  avoid  discovery.  He  too, 
perhaps,  had  been  dimly  seen  in  the  same  manner — 
not  his  features,  for  none  in  that  depth  of  shadow  in 
which  he  crept  could  well  have  made  them  out ; — but 
such  partial  glances,  though  he  strove  to  avoid  all 
observation,  he  did  not  so  much  heed,  as  he  well  knew 
that  the  thought  of  others  seeing  him,  without  ascer- 
taining who  he  was,  would  be  apt  to  assign  him  a  like 
pursuit  with  that  which  he  assigned  to  those  he  saw — 
the  nocturnal  amour, — pursued  by  the  Yemassees  with  a 
fastidious  regard  to  secrecy,  not  because  of  any  moral 
reserve,  but  that  such  a  pursuit  savours  of  a  weakness 
unbecoming  to  manhood. 

On  a  sudden  he  drew  back  from  the  way  he  was 
pursuing,  and  sunk  under  the  cover  of  a  gigantic  oak. 
A  torch  flamed  across  the  path,  and  a  dusky  maiden 
carried  it,  followed  by  a  young  warrior.  They  passed 
directly  beside  the  tree  behind  which  Occonestoga  had 
sought  for  shelter,  and,  at  the  first  glance,  he  knew 
Hiwassee,  the  young  maiden  who  was  to  have  filled 
his  own  lodge,  according  to  the  expectations  of  the 
people.  But  he  had  lost  sight  of  and  forgotten  her  in 
the  practices  which  had  weaned  him  from  his  brethren 
and  bound  him  to  the  whites.  Yet  he  had  regarded 
her  with  favour,  and  though  he  had  never  formally 
proposed  to  break  with  her  the  sacred  wand  of  Checka- 
moysee,*  which  was  to  give  her  the  title  to  his  dwelling 
and  make  her  his  wife,  yet,  the  public  expectation  had 
found  sufficient  warrant  in  his  own  feelings  upon  the 
subject.  He  now  listened  with  something  of  disap- 
pointment, but  more  of  self-reproach,  to  the  proposition 
as  it  was  made  to  her  by  another. 

"It  is  a  brave  chief,  Hiwassee — a  brave  chief  that 
would  have  you  enter  his  lodge.     The  lodge  of  Echotee 

*  Checkamoysee,  the  Yemassee  Hymen. 


THE    VEMASSEE.  195 

is  ready  for  Hiwassee.  Look !  this  is  the  stick  of 
Checkamoysee, — break  it — take  it  in  thy  hands  and 
break  it,  Hiwassee,  and  Echotee  will  quench  the  torch 
which  thou  bearest  in  the  running  water.  Then  shalt 
thou  be  the  wife  of  a  warrior,  and  the  venison  shall 
always  be  full  in  thy  lodge.  Break  the  stick  of  Checka- 
moysee, Hiwassee,  and  be  the  wife  of  Echotee." 

And  the  dusky  maiden  needed  little  wooing.  She 
broke  the  stick,  and  as  she  did  so,  seizing  the  blazing 
torch  with  a  ready  hand,  Echotee  hurried  with  it  to  a 
brook  that  trickled  along  at  a  little  distance,  and  in  the 
next  instant  it  hissed  in  the  water,  and  all  was  dark- 
ness. Without  regarding  what  he  was  doing,  or  think- 
ing of  his  own  risk,  Occonestoga,  in  the  absence 
of  her  accepted  lover,  could  not  forbear  a  word,  some- 
what of  reproach,  perhaps,  in  the  ear  of  Hiwassee. 
She  stood  but  a  few  paces  off,  under  the  shadow  and 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  same  tree  which  gave  him 
shelter ;  with  the  broken  stick  still  in  her  hand  in 
attestation  of  her  wild  forest  nuptial.  What  he  said 
was  unheard  save  by  herself,  but  she  screamed  as  she 
heard  it ;  and,  hearing  her  lover  approach,  and  now  duly 
conscious  of  his  error,  Occonestoga  in  the  next  moment 
had  darted  away  from  the  place  of  their  tryst,  and  was 
pursuing  his  path  with  all  the  vigour  of  a  renewed  and 
resolute  spirit.  At  length  he  approached  the  town  of 
Pocota-ligo,  but,  at  first,  carefully  avoiding  its  main 
entrance,  which  was  upon  the  river,  particularly  as  the 
throng  of  sounds  reaching  his  ears  from  that  quarter 
indicated  a  still  active  stir,  he  shot  off  circuitously  into 
the  thicker  woods,  so  as  to  come  into  the  immediate 
neighbourhood  of  his  father's  dwelling.  From  a  neigh- 
bouring thicket,  after  a  little  while,  he  looked  down 
upon  the  cabin  which  had  given  a  birth-place  and  shelter 
to  his  infancy ;  and  the  feeling  of  shame  grew  strong 
in  his  bosom  as  he  thought  upon  the  hopes  defeated  of 
his  high-souled  father,  and  of  the  affections  thrown  away 
of  the  gentle  mother,  with  whom,  however  mortified 
and  fruitless,  they  still  continued  to  flourish  lor  the 
outcast.     Such  thoughts  however  were  not  permitted 


196  THE    VEMASSEE. 

to  trouble  him  long ;  for,  as  he  looked  he  beheld  by  the 
ruddy  blaze  of  the  pine  torch  which  the  boy  carried 
before  him,  the  person  of  his  father  emerge  from  the 
lodge,  and  take  the  well-known  pathway  leading  to 
Pocota-ligo.  If  Occonestoga  had  no  other  virtue,  that 
of  love  for  his  mother  was,  to  a  certain  extent,  suf- 
ficiently redeeming.  His  previous  thoughts,  his  natural 
feeling,  prepared  him,  whatever  the  risk,  to  take  advan- 
tage of  the  opportunity  thus  offered  him.  In  another 
instant,  and  the  half  penitent  prodigal  stood  in  the 
presence  of  Matiwan. 

"  Oh,  boy — Occonestoga — thou  art  come: — thou  art 
come.  Thou  art  not  yet  lost  to  Matiwan."  And  she 
threw  herself,  with  the  exclamation,  fondly,  though  but 
for  a  moment,  upon  his  neck ;  the  next,  recovering  her- 
self, she  spoke  in  hurried  tones,  full  of  grief  and  appre 
hension.  "  Thou  shouldst  not  come — fly,  boy— -fly, 
Occonestoga — be  a  swift  bird,  that  the  night  has  over- 
taken far  away  from  his  bush.  There  is  danger — 
there  is  death — not  death — there  is  a  curse  for  thee 
from  Opitchi-Manneyto." 

"  Let  not  the  grief  stand  in  the  eye  of  Matiwan. 
Occonestoga  fears  not  death.  He  has  a  song  for  the 
Manneyto  of  the  blessed  valley,  the  great  warriors 
shall  clap  their  hands  and  cry  '  Sangarrah-me,  Sangar- 
rah-me,  Yemassee,'  when  they  hear.  Let  not  the 
grief  stand  in  the  eye  of  Matiwan." 

"  It  is  for  thee,  for  thee,  boy — for  thee,  Occonestoga. 
The  sorrow  of  Matiwan  is  for  thee.  Thou  hast  been 
in  this  bosom,  Occonestoga,  and  thine  eyes  came,  when 
the  green  was  on  the  young  leaf  and  the  yellow  flower 
was  hanging  over  the  lodge  in  the  strength  of  the  sun." 

"  Know  I  not  the  song  of  Enoree-Mattee,  when  the 
eyes  of  Occonestoga  looked  up  ?  said  he  not,  under  the 
green  leaf,  under  the  yellow  flower,  the  brave  comes 
who  shall  have  arrows  with  wings  and  a  knife  that  has 
eyes  1  Occonestoga  is  here." 

"  Matiwan  was  glad.  Sanutee  lifted  thee  to  the  sun, 
boy,  and  begged  for  thee  his  beams  from  the  good 
Manneyto.      The   gladness  is  gone,  Occonestoga- — 


THE    YEMASSEE.  197 

gone  from  Sanutee,  gone  from  Matiwan, — gone  with 
thee.  There  is  no  green  on  the  leaf — my  eyes  look 
upon  the  yellow  flowers  no  longer.  Occonestoga,  it 
is  thou, — thou  hast  taken  all  this  light  from  the  eye 
of  Matiwan.     The  gladness  and  the  light  are  gone." 

"  Matiwan  tells  no  lie — this  dog  is  Occonestoga." 
But  the  gentle  parent,  tender  even  in  the  utterance  of 
truth,  fearing  she  had  gone  too  far,  hastily  and  almost 
indignantly  interrupted  him  in  the  melancholy  self- 
condemnation  he  was  uttering. 

"  No,  no — Occonestoga  is  no  dog.  He  is  a  brave — 
he  is  the  son  of  Sanutee,  the  well-beloved  of  the  Ye- 
massee.  Occonestoga  has  shut  his  eyes  and  gone  upon 
the  track  of  a  foolish  dream,  but  he  will  wake  with  the 
sun, — and  Matiwan  will  see  the  green  leaf  and  the 
yellow  flower  still  hanging  over  the  lodge  of  Sanutee  ;" 
and  as  she  spoke  she  threw  her  arms  about  him  affec- 
tionately, while  the  tears  came  to  the  relief  of  her 
heart  and  flowed  freely  down  her  cheeks.  The  youth 
gently  but  coldly  disengaged  her  clasp,  and  proceeded 
to  seat  himself  upon  the  broad  skin  lying  upon  the  floor 
of  the  cabin ;  when,  aroused  by  the  movement,  and 
with  a  return  of  all  her  old  apprehensions,  she  thrust 
him  from  it  with  an  air  of  anxiety,  if  not  of  horror,  and 
shutting  her  eyes  upon  the  wondering  and  somewhat 
indignant  glance  with  which  he  now  surveyed  her, 
she  exclaimed  passionately — 

"  Go — fly — wherefore  art  thou  here — here  in  the 
lodge  of  Sanutee — thou,  the  accursed — the — "  and  the 
words  stuck  in  her  throat,  and,  unarticulated,  came  forth 
chokingly. 

"  Is  Matiwan  mad — has  the  fever-pain  gone  into  her 
temples  ?"  he  asked  in  astonishment. 

"  No,  no,  no— not  mad,  Occonestoga.  But  thou  art 
cast  out  from  the  Yemassee.  He  does  not  know  thee 
— the  young  warriors  know  thee  not — the  chiefs  know 
thee  not — Manneyto  denies  thee.  They  have  said — 
thou  art  a  Yemassee  no  longer.  They  have  cast  thee 
out." 

"The  Yemassee  is  great,  but  he  cannot  deny  Occo- 
nesto?a.  Thou  art  mad,  Matiwan.  Look,  woman,  here 
17* 


198  THE    YEMASSEE. 

is  the  broad  arrow  of  Yemassee  upon  the  shouldei  of 
a  chief." 

"  It  is  gone — it  is  gone  from  thee,  Occonestoga. 
They  have  sworn  by  Opitchi-Manneyto,  that  Malatchie, 
the  Clublifter,  shall  take  it  from  thy  shoulder." 

The  youth  shrunk  back,  and  his  eyes  started  in 
horror,  while  his  limbs  trembled  with  a  sentiment  of 
fear  not  often  felt  by  an  Indian  warrior.  In  another 
instant,  however,  he  recovered  from  the  stupor  if  not 
from  the  dread,  which  her  intelligence  occasioned. 

"  Ha,  Matiwan,  thou  hast  no  fork  in  thy  tongue. 
Thou  speakest  not  to  me  with  the  voice  of  the  Coonee- 
latee." 

"  Opitchi-Manneyto ! — he  hears  the  voice  of  Matiwan. 
The  Yemassee  has  doomed  thee." 

"  They  dare  not — they  will  not.  I  will  go  with  them 
upon  the  war-path  against  the  Santee  and  the  Seratee. 
I  will  take  up  the  hatchet  against  the  English.  I  will 
lead  the  young  warriors  to  battle.  They  shall  know 
Occonestoga  for  a  chief." 

"  Thou  canst  not,  boy.  They  do  not  trust  thee — 
they  have,  doomed  thee  with  the  chiefs  who  sold  the 
land  to  the  English.  Has  not  Malatchie  cut  with 
the  knife,  and  burnt  away  with  fire  from  their  shoulders 
the  sacred  and  broad  arrow  of  Yemassee,  so  that  we 
know  them  no  more? — Their  fathers  and  their  sons  know 
them  no  more — the  mothers  that  bore  them  know  them 
no  more — the  other  nations  know  them  no  more — they 
cannot  enter  the  blessed  valley  of  Manneyto,  for  Man- 
neyto  knows  them  not  when  he  looks  for  the  broad 
arrow  of  Yemassee,  and  finds  it  not  upon  their  shoul- 
ders." 

"  Woman !  thou  liest ! — thou  art  hissing  lies  in  my 
ears,  like  a  green  snake,  with  thy  forked  tongue.  The 
Yemassee  has  not  done  this  thing  as  thou  say'st." 

The  voice  of  the  woman  sunk  into  a  low  and  husky 
murmur,  and  the  always  melancholy  tones  of  their 
language  grew  doubly  so  in  her  utterance,  as  she 
replied  in  a  stern  rebuke,  though  her  attitude  and  man- 
ner were  entirely  passionless  : — 


THE    YEMASSEE.  199 

"  When  has  Matiwan  lied  to  Occonestoga  ?  Occo- 
nestoga  is  a  dog  when  he  speaks  of  Matiwan  as  the 
forked  tongue." 

"  He  is  a  dog  if  thou  hast  not  lied,  Matiwan.  Say- 
that  thou  hast  lied — that  thou  hast  said  a  foolish  thing 
to  Occonestoga.  Say,  Matiwan,  and  the  young  arrow 
will  be  in  thy  hand  even  as  the  long  shoots  of  the  tree 
that  weeps.     Thou  shalt  be  to  him  as  thou  wilt." 

With  an  expression  the  most  humbled  and  imploring, 
and  something  more  of  warmth  than  is  usually  shown 
by  the  Indian  warrior,  the  young  chief  took  the  hand 
of  his  mother,  while  uttering  an  appeal,  virtually  apolo- 
gizing for  the  harsh  language  he  had  previously  made 
use  of.  With  the  pause  of  an  instant,  and  a  passionate 
melancholy,  almost  amounting  to  the  vehemence  of 
despair,  she  replied  : — 

"  Matiwan  does  not  lie.  The  Yemassee  has  said 
the  doom,  which  Enoree-Mattee,  the  prophet,  brought 
from  Opitchi-Manneyto.  Has  not  Malatchie  cut  from 
the  shoulders  of  the  chiefs  and  burnt  away  with  fire 
the  broad  arrow,  and  never  more  may  they  be  known 
by  the  Yemassee — never  more  by  the  Manneyto !  The 
doom  is  for  thee,  Occonestoga.  It  is  true.  There  is 
no  fork  in  the  tongue  of  Matiwan.  Fly.  boy — fly, Oc- 
conestoga. It  is  thy  mother,  it  is  Matiwan  that  prays 
thee  to  fly.  Matiwan  would  not  lose  thee,  Occonestoga, 
from  the  happy  valley.  Be  the  swift  arrow  on  the  path 
of  flight — let  them  not  see  thee — let  them  not  give  thee 
to  Malatchie." 

Thus,  passionately  imploring  him,  the  mother  urged 
upon  him  the  necessity  of  flight.  But,  for  a  few 
minutes,  as  if  stunned  by  the  intelligence  which  he 
could  not  now  disbelieve,  the  young  warrior  stood  in 
silence,  with  down-bending  head,  the  very  personifica 
tion  of  despair.  Then,  quickly  and  fully  recovering, 
with  a  kindling  eye,  and  a  manner  well  corresponding 
with  his  language,  he  started  forward  erect,  in  his 
fullest  height,  and  with  the  action  of  a  strong  mood 
for  a  moment  assumed  the  attitude  of  that  true  dignity 
from  which  in  his  latter  days  and  habits  he  had  but  too 
much  and  too  often  departed. 


200  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  Ha !  Is  Occonestoga  an  arrow  that  is  broken  ? 
Is  he  the  old  tree  across  the  swamp  that  the  dog's  foot 
runs  over?  Has  he  no  strength — has  the  blood  gone 
out  of  his  heart  ?  Has  he  no  knife — where  are  the  arrow 
and  the  tomahawk?  They  are  here — I  have  them. 
The  Yemassee  shall  not  hold  me  down  when  I  sleep. 
Occonestoga  sleeps  not.  He  will  do  battle  against  the 
Yemassee.  His  knife  shall  strike  at  the  breast  of 
Sanutee." 

"  Thou  hast  said  a  folly,  boy — Occonestoga,  wouldst 
thou  strike  at  thy  father  ?"  said  the  mother,  sternly. 

"  His  hatchet  shook  over  the  head  of  Occonestoga 
in  the  lodge  of  council.  He  is  the  enemy  of  Occo- 
nestoga— a  bad  thorn  in  the  path,  ready  for  the  foot  that 
flies.  I  will  slay  him  like  a  dog.  He  shall  hear  the 
scalp-song  of  Occonestoga — I  will  sing  it  in  his  ears, 
woman,  like  a  bird  that  comes  with  the  storm,  while  I 
send  the  long  knife  into  his  heart ;"  and  fiercely,  as  he 
concluded  this  speech,  he  chanted  a  passage  of  the 
famous  scalp-song  of  the  Yemassee — 

"  I  go  with  the  long  knife, 
On  the  path  of  my  enemy — 
Tn  the  cover  of  the  brake, 
With  the  tooth  of  the  war-rattle, 
I  strike  the  death  into  his  heel — 
Sangarrah-me,  Sangarrah-me. 
I  hear  him  groan,  I  see  him  gasp, 
I  tear  his  throat,  I  drink  his  blood, 
He  sings  the  song  of  his  dying, 
To  the  glory  of  Occonestoga." 

"Ha!  thou  hearest,  Matiwan — this  will  I  sing  for 
Sanutee  when  my  knee  is  upon  his  breast,  when  my 
knife  is  thick  in  his  iieart,  when  I  tear  the  thin  scalp 
from  his  forehead." 

Thus,  in  a  deep,  fiercely  impressive,  but  low  tone, 
Occonestoga  poured  forth  in  his  mother's  ears  the 
fulness  of  his  paroxysm, — in  his  madness  attributing, 
and  with  correctness,  the  doom  which  had  been  pro- 
nounced against  him  as  coming  from  his  father.  In 
that  fierce  and  bitter  moment  he  forgot  all  the  ties  of 
consanguinity,  and  his  look  was  that  of  the  furious  and 


THE    YEMASSEE.  201 

fearful  savage,  already  imbruing  his  hands  in  parental 
blood,  which,  in  his  scalp-song,  we  have  heard  him 
describe.  The  horror  of  Matiwan,  beyond  expression, 
could  not,  however,  be  kept  from  utterance  : — 

;'  Thou  hast  drunk  madness,  boy,  from  the  cup  of 
Opitchi-Manneyto.  The  devil  of  'the  white  man's 
prophet  has  gone  into  thy  heart.  Rut  thou  art  the 
child  of  Matiwan,  and,  though  thou  art  in  a  foolish  path, 
it  is  thy  mother  that  would  save  thee.  Go — fly,  Occo- 
nestoga — keep  on  thy  shoulder  the  broad  arrow  of 
Yemassee,  so  that  thy  mother  may  not  lose  thee  from 
the  blessed  valley  of  Manneyto." 

Before  the  young  warrior,  somewhat  softened  by 
ihis  speech,  could  find  words  to  reply  to  it,  his  acute 
Sense — acute  enough  at  all  times  to  savour  of  a  super- 
natural faculty — detected  an  approaching  sound  ;  and, 
lirough  an  opening  of  the  logs  in  the  dwelling,  the  flare 
of  a  torch  was  seen  approaching.  Matiwan,  much 
more  apprehensive,  with  her  anxieties  now  turned  in 
a  new  direction,  went  quickly  to  the  entrance,  and 
returning  instantly,  with  great  alarm,  announced  the 
approach  of  Sanutee. 

"  He  comes  to  the  hatchet  of  Occonestoga,"  cried 
the  youth  fiercely,  his  recent  rage  re-awakening. 

"  Wouldst  thou  slay  Matiwan  ?"  was  the  reply, — and 
the  look,  the  tone,  the  words,  were  sufficient.  The 
fierce  spirit  was  quelled,  and  the  youth  suffered  himself 
to  follow  quietly  as  she  directed.  She  led  him  to  a 
remote  corner  of  the  lodge,  which,  piled  up  with  skins, 
furnished  a  fair  chance  and  promise  of  security.  With 
several  of  these,  as  he  stretched  himself  at  his  length, 
she  contrived  to  cover  him  in  such  a  manner  as  effec- 
tually to  conceal  him  from  the  casual  observer.  Having 
so  done,  she  strove  to  resume  her  composure  in  time 
for  the  reception  of  the  old  chief,  whose  torch  now 
blazed  at  the  entrance. 


202  THE    YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

"  They  bind  him,  will  they  slay  him?    That  old  man, 
His  father,  will  he  look  upon  and  see 
The  danger  of  his  child,  nor  lift  his  voice, 
Nor  lend  his  arm  to  save  him  ?" 

With  a  mind  deeply  taken  up  with  the  concerns  of 
state,  Sanutee  threw  himself  upon  the  bearskin  which 
formed  a  sort  of  carpet  in  the  middle  of  the  lodge,  and 
failed  utterly  to  remark  the  discomposure  of  Matiwan, 
which,  otherwise,  to  the  keen  glance  of  the  Indian, 
would"  not  have  remained  very  long  concealed.  She 
took  her  seat  at  his  head,  and  croned  low  and  musingly 
some  familiar  chant  of  forest  song,  unobtrusively,  yet 
meant  to  sooth  his  ear.  He  heard — for  this  had  long 
been  a  practice  with  her  and  a  domestic  indulgence 
w;th  him — he  heard,  but  did  not  seem  to  listen.  His 
mmd  was  away — busied  in  the  events  of  the  wild 
storm  it  had  invoked,  and  the  period  of  which  was 
rapidly  approaching.  But  there  were  other  matters 
less  important,  that  called  for  present  attention ;  and 
turning  at  length  to  his  wife,  and  pointing  at  the  same 
time  to  the  pile  of  skins  that  lay  confusedly  huddled 
up  over  the  crouching  form  of  Occonestoga,  he  gently 
remarked  upon  their  loose  and  disordered  appearance. 
The  well-bred  housewife  of  a  city  might  have  discov- 
ered something  of  rebuke  to  her  domestic  management 
in  what  he  said  on  this  subject ;  but  the  mind  of 
Matiwan  lost  all  sight  of  the  reproach,  in  the  appre- 
hensions which  such  a  reference  had  excited.  He 
saw  not  her  disorder,  however,  but  proceeded  to  enu- 
merate to  himself  their  numbers,  sorts,  and  qualities, 
with  a  simple  air  of  business  ;  until,  suddenly  labour- 
ing, as  it  appeared,  under  some  deficiency  of  memory, 
he  instructed  her  to  go  and  ascertain  the  number  of 
bearskins  in  the  collection. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  203 

"  The  Spanish  trader  will  buy  from  Sanutee  with 
the  next  sun.     Go,  Matiwan." 

To  hear  was  to  obey  ;  and  half  dead  with  fear,  yet 
rejoiced  that  he  had  not  gone  himself,  she  proceeded 
to  tumble  about  the  skins,  with  ready  compliance,  and 
an  air  of  industry,  the  most  praiseworthy  in  an  Indian 
woman.  Her  labour  was  lengthened,  so  Sanutee 
seemed  to  think,  somewhat  beyond  the  time  necessary 
to  enumerate  a  lot  of  skins  not  exceeding  fifteen  or 
twenty  in  number,  and  with  some  little  sternness  at 
last  he  demanded  of  her  the  cause  of  the  delay. 
Apprehensive  that  he  would  yet  rise,  and  seek  for 
himself  a  solution  of  the  difficulty,  she  determined, 
as  she  had  not  yet  ascertained,  to  guess  at  the  fact, 
and  immediately  replied  in  a  representation  which  did 
not  at  all  accord  with  the  calculation  of  the  chiefs 
own  memory  on  the  subject.  The  impatience  of 
Occonestoga,  in  the  meantime,  was  not  less  than  that 
of  Sanutee.  He  worried  his  mother  fcot  a  little  in  his 
restlessness  while  she  moved  about  him  ;  and  once  as 
she  bent  over  him,  removing  this,  and  replacing  that,  he 
seized  upon  her  hand,  and  would  have  spoken,  but  that 
so  dangerous  an  experiment  she  would  not  permit.  But 
she  saw  by  his  glance,  and  the  settled  firmness  with 
which  he  grasped  his  hatchet,  that  his  thought  was 
that  of  defiance  to  his  father  and  a  desire  to  throw 
aside  his  restraining  cover  and  assert  his  manhood. 
She  drew  away  from  him  rapidly,  with  a  finger 
uplifted  as  if  in  entreaty,  while  with  one  hand  she 
threw  over  him  a  huge  bearskin,  which  nearly  suffo- 
cated him,  and  which  he  immediately,  in  part,  threw 
aside.  Sanutee  in  the  meantime  seemed  very  im- 
perfectly satisfied  with  the  representation  which  she 
had  made,  and  manifesting  some  doubt  as  to  the  cor- 
rectness of  her  estimate,  he  was  about  to  rise  and  look 
for  himself  into  the  matter.  But,  in  some  trepidation, 
the  wary  Matiwan  prevented  him. 

"  Wherefore  should  the  chief  toil  at  the  task  of  a 
woman?  Battle  for  the  chief — wisdom  in  council 
for  the  chief;  and  the  seat  under  the  big  tree,  at  the 


204  THE    YEMASSEE. 

head  of  the  lodge,  when  the  great  chiefs  come  to  eat 
meat  from  his  hands.  Sit,  well-beloved — wherefore 
should  not  Matiwan  look  for  thee  ?  The  toil  of  the 
lodge  is  for  Matiwan." 

"  Sanutee  will  look,  Matiwan — the  bearskin  is 
heavy  on  thy  hands,"  was  the  considerate  reply. 

"  Go  not,  look  not — "  impatiently,  rather  too  impa- 
tiently earnest,  was  the  response  of  the  woman  ;  suffi- 
ciently so.  to  awaken  surprise,  if  not  suspicion,  in  the 
mind  of  the  old  chief.  She  saw  her  error  in  the  next 
instant,  and,  proceeding  to  correct  it,  without  at  the 
same  time  yielding  up  the  point,  she  said  : 

"  Thou  art  weary,  chief — all  day  long  thou  hast 
been  upon  the  track  of  toil,  and  thy  feet  need  rest. 
Rest  thee. — Matiwan  is  here — why  shouldst  thou  not 
repose?     Will  she  not  look  to  the  skins?     She  goes." 

"  Thou  art  good,  Matiwan,  but  Sanutee  will  look 
with  the  eye  that  is  true.  He  is  not  weary  as  thou 
say'st.  Cha  !"  he  exclaimed,  as  she  still  endeavoured 
to  prevent  him — "  Cha  ! — Cha  !"  impatiently  putting 
her  aside  with  the  exclamation,  and  turning  to  the  very 
spot  of  Occonestoga's  concealment.  Hopeless  of 
escape,  Matiwan  clasped  her  hands  together,  and  the 
beatings  of  her  heart  grew  more  frequent  and  painful. 
Already  his  hands  were  upon  the  skins, — already  had 
Occonestoga  determined  upon  throwing  aside  his  cov- 
ering and  grappling  with  his  fate  like  a  warrior,  when 
a  sudden  yell  of  many  voices,  and  the  exciting  blood- 
cry  of  Yemassee  battle,  "  Sangarrah-me,  Sangarrah- 
me," — rung  through  the  little  apartment.  Lights  flared 
all  around  the  lodge,  and  a  confused,  wild,  and  ap- 
proaching clamour,  as  of  many  voices,  from  without, 
drew  the  attention  of  all  within,  and  diverted  Sanutee 
from  a  further  search  at  that  time,  which  must  have 
resulted  in  a  denouement  severely  trying  if  not  danger- 
ous to  all  parties. 

"  Sangarrah-me — he  is  here — the  slave  of  Opitchi- 
Manneyto  is  here." 

And  a  general  howl,  with  a  direct  appeal  to  Sanutee, 
brought  the  old  chief  to  the  door  of  the  lodge.    Before 


THE    YEMAS8EE.  205 

he  could  propose  an  inquiry  into  their  business  and 
desire,  they  poured  that  information  upon  him  which 
shook  and  startled  him.  The  indiscretion  of  Occo- 
nestoga  when  speaking  in  the  ear  of  the  Indian  maiden 
Hiwassee,  had  brought  about  its  legitimate  consequen- 
ces. In  her  surprise,  and  accounting  for  the  shriek 
she  gave,  she  had  revealed  the  circumstance  to  her 
lover,  and  it  was  not  long  before  he  had  again  related 
it  to  another.  The  story  flew,  the  crowd  increased, 
and,  gathering  excitement  from  numbers,  they  rushed 
forward  to  the  lodge  of  Matiwan,  where,  from  his  known 
love  to  his  mother,  they  thought  it  probable  he  would  be 
found,  to  claim  the  doomed  slave  of  Opitchi-Manneyto. 
The  old  chief  heard  them  with  a  stern  and  motionless 
calm  of  countenance  ;  then,  without  an  instant  of  re- 
flection, throwing  open  the  door  of  the  lodge,  he  bade 
them  enter  upon  the  search  for  their  victim. 

The  clamour  and  its  occasion,  in  the  meantime,  had 
been  made  sufficiently  and  fearfully  intelligible  to  those 
within.  Matiwan  sunk  down  hopelessly  and  sad  in 
a  corner  of  the  apartment,  while  Occonestoga,  with 
a  rapid  recovery  of  all  his  energies,  throwing  aside 
his  covering  of  skins,  and  rising  from  his  place  of 
concealment,  stood  once  again  an  upright  and  fearless 
Indian  warrior.  He  freed  the  knife  from  its  sheath, 
tightened  the  belt  about  his  waist,  grasped  the  toma- 
hawk in  his  right  hand,  and  placing  himself  conspicu- 
ously in  the  centre  of  the  apartment,  prepared  manfully 
for  the  worst. 

Such  was  his  position,  when,  leading  the  way  for  the 
pursuers  of  the  fugitive,  Sanutee  re-entered  the  cabin. 
A  moment's  glance  sufficed  to  show  him  the  truth  of 
the  statement  made  him,  and  at  the  same  time  ac- 
counted for  the  uneasiness  of  Matiwan,  and  her  desire 
to  prevent  his  examination  of  the  skins.  He  darted  a 
severe  look  upon  her  where  she  lay  in  the  corner,  and 
as  the  glance  met  her  own,  she  crept  silently  towards 
him  and  would  have  clasped  his  knees  ;  but.  the  ire  of 
Sanutee  was  too  deeply  awakened,  and  regarding  his 
profligate  son,  not  merely  in  that  character,  but  as  the 
I.  18 


206  THE    YEMASSSl!;. 

chief  enemy  and  betrayer  of  his  country  to  the .  Eng- 
lish, he  Airew  her  aside,  then  approached  and  stretched 
forth  his  arm  as  if  to  secure  him.  But  Occonestoga 
stood  on  the  defensive,  and  with  a  skill  and  power, 
which,  at  one  time,  had  procured  for  him  a  high 
reputation  for  warrior-like  conduct,  in  a  field  where 
the  competitors  were  numerous,  he  hurled  backward 
the  old  chief  upon  the  crowd  that  followed  him.  Doubly 
incensed  at  the  resistance  thus  offered,  Sanutee  re- 
advanced  with  a  degree  of  anger  which  excluded  the 
cautious  consideration  of  the  true  warrior, — and  as  the 
approach  was  narrow,  he  re -advanced  unsupported. 
The  recollection  of  the  terrible  doom  impending  over 
his  head — the  knowledge  of  Sanutee's  own  share  in 
its  decree — the  stern  denunciations  of  his  father  in  his 
own  ears, — the  fierce  feeling  of  degraded  pride  con- 
sequent upon  his  recent  and  present  mode  of  life,  and 
the  desperate  mood  induced  by  his  complete  isolation 
from  all  the  sympathies  of  his  people,  evinced  by  their 
vindictive  pursuit  of  him, — all  conspired  to  make  him 
the  wreckless  wretch  who  would  rather  seek  than  shrink 
from  the  contemplated  parricide.  His  determination 
was  thick  in  the  glance  of  his  eye;  and  while  he  threw 
back  the  tomahawk,  so  that  the  sharp  pick  on  the 
opposite  end  rested  upon  his  right  shoulder,  and  its 
edge  lay  alongside  his  cheek,  he  muttered  between 
his  firmly  set  teeth,  fragments  of  the  fearful  scalp-song 
which  he  had  sung  in  his  mother's  ear  before. 

"  Sangarrah-me — Sangarrah-me, 
I  hear  him  groan,  I  see  him  gasp, 
I  tear  his  throat,  I  drink  his  blood — 
Sangarrah-me — Sangarrah-me." 

This  did  not  discourage  the  old  chief,  though  the 
son,  with  a  desperate  strength,  while  singing  the  fierce 
anthem,  grappled  his  father  by  the  throat,  and  cried 
aloud  to  him,  as  he  shook  the  hatchet  in  his  eyes — 

"  I  hear  thee  groan — I  see  thee  gasp — I  tear  thy 
throat — I  drink  thy  blood  ;  for  I  know  thee  as  mine 
enemy  Thou  art  not  Sanutee — thou  art  not  the 
father  of  Occonestoga — but  a  black  dog,  sent  on  his 


THE    YEMASSEE.  207 

path  to  tear.  Die,  thou  dog — thou  black  dog — die — 
thus  I  slay  thee — thus  I  slay  thee,  thou  enemy  of  Oc- 
conestoga." 

And  handling  the  old  man  with  a  strength  beyond 
his  power  to  contend  with,  he  aimed  the  deadly  stroke 
directly  at  the  eyes  of  his  father.  But  the  song  and 
the  speech  had  aroused  the  yet  conscious  but.  suffering 
Matiwan,  and  starting  up  from  the  ground  where  she 
had  been  lying,  almost  between  the  feet  of  the  com- 
batants, with  uplifted  hands  she  interposed,  just  as  the 
fell  direction  had  been  given  to  the  weapon  of  her 
son.  The  piercing  shriek  of  that  fondly  cherishing 
mother  went  to  the  very  bones  of  the  young  warrior. 
Her  interposition  had  the  effect  of  a  spell  upon  him,  par- 
ticularly as,  at  the  moment — so  timely  for  Sanutee 
had  been  her  interposition — he  who  gave  the  blow 
could  with  difficulty  arrest  the  impulse  with  which  it 
had  been  given,  and  which  must  have  made  it  a  blow 
fatal  to  her.  The  narrow  escape  which  she  had  made, 
sent  through  the  youth  an  unnerving  chill  and  shudder. 
The  deadly  instrument  fell  from  his  hand,  and  now 
rushing  upon  him,  the  crowd  drew  him  to  the  ground, 
and  taking  from  him  every  other  weapon,  pinioned  his 
arms  closely  behind  him.  He  turned  away  with 
something  of  horror  in  his  countenance  as  he  met  the 
second  gaze  of  his  father,  and  his  eyes  rested  with  a 
painful  solicitude  upon  the  wo-begone  visage  of 
Matiwan,  who  had,  after  her  late  effort,  again  sunk 
down  at  the  feet  of  Sanutee.  He  looked  fondly,  but 
sadly  upon  her,  and  with  a  single  sentence  addressed 
to  her,  he  offered  no  obstacle  while  his  captors  led 
him  away. 

"  Matiwan — "  said  he, — "  thou  hast  bound  Occones- 
toga  for  his  enemies.  Thou  hast  given  him  to  Opitchi- 
Manneyto." 

The  woman  heard  no  more,  but  as  they  bore  him 
off,  she  sunk  down  in  momentary  insensibility  upon 
tfie  spot  where  she  had  lain  through  the  greater  part 
}f  the  recent  controversy.  Sanutee,  meanwhile,  with 
much  of  the  character  of  ancient  Roman  patriotism 


208  THE    YEMASSEE. 

went  forth  with  the  rest,  on  their  way  to  the  council ; 
one  of  the  judges — indeed,  the  chief  arbiter  upon 
the  destinies  of  his  son. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

"  The  pain  of  death  is  nothing.    To  the  chief, 
The  forest  warrior,  it  is  good  to  die — 
To  die  as  he  has  lived,  battling  and  hoarse, 
Shouting  a  song  of  triumph.     But  to  live 
Under  such  doom  as  this,  were  far  beyond 
Even  his  stoic,  cold  philosophy." 

It  was  a  gloomy  amphitheatre  in  the  deep  forests 
to  which  the  assembled  multitude  bore  the  unfortunate 
Occonestoga.  The  whole  scene  was  unique  in  that 
solemn  grandeur,  that  sombre  hue,  that  deep  spiritual 
repose,  in  which  the  human  imagination  delights  to 
invest  a  scene  that  has  been  rendered  remarkable 
for  the  deed  of  punishment  or  crime.  A  small  swamp 
or  morass  hung  upon  one  of  its  skirts,  from  the  rank 
bosom  of  which,  in  numberless  millions,  the  flickering 
fire-fly  perpetually  darted  upwards,  giving  a  brilliance 
of  animation  to  the  spot,  which,  at  that  moment,  no 
assemblage  of  light  or  life  could  possibly  enliven. 
The  ancient  oak,  a  bearded  Druid,  was  there  to  con- 
tribute to  the  due  solemnity  of  all  associations — the 
gnarled  and  stunted  hickory,  the  ghostly  cedar,  and 
here  and  there  the  overgrown  pine, — all  rose  up  in 
their  primitive  strength,  and  with  an  undergrowth 
around  them  of  shrub  and  flower,  that  scarcely  at  any 
time  in  that  sheltered  and  congenial  habitation  had 
found  it  necessary  to  shrink  from  winter.  In  the  centre 
of  the  area  thus  invested,  rose  a  high  and  venerable 
mound,  the  tumulus  of  many  preceding  ages,  from  the 
washed  sides  of  which  might  now  and  then  be  seen 
protruding  the  bleached  bones  of  some  ancient  warrior 
or  sage.     A  circle  of  trees,  at  a  little  distance,  hedged 


THE    YEMASSEE.  209 

it  in, — made  secure  and  sacred  by  the  performance 
there  of  many  of  their  religious  rites  and  offices, — 
themselves,  as  they  bore  the  broad  arrow  of  the  Ye- 
massee,  being  free  from  all  danger  of  overthrow  or 
desecration  by  Indian  hands. 

Amid  the  confused  cries  of  the  multitude,  they 
bore  the  captive  to  the  foot  of  the  tumulus,  and  bound 
him  backward,  half  reclining  upon  a  tree.  An  hundred 
warriors  stood  around,  armed  according  to  the  manner 
of  the  nation,  each  with  tomahawk,  and  knife,  and  bow. 
They  stood  up  as  for  battle,  but  spectators  simply,  and 
taking  no  part  in  the  proceeding.  In  a  wider  and 
denser  circle,  gathered  hundreds  more — not  the  war- 
riors, but  the  people — the  old,  the  young,  the  women 
and  the  children,  all  fiercely  excited  and  anxious  to  see 
and  take  part  in  a  ceremony,  so  awfully  exciting  to  an 
Indian  imagination ;  conferring,  as  it  did,  not  only  the 
perpetual  loss  of  human  caste  and  national  considera- 
tion, but  the  eternal  doom,  the  degradation,  the  denial  of, 
and  the  exile  from,  their  simple  forest  heaven.  Inter- 
spersed with  this  latter  crowd,  seemingly  at  regular 
intervals,  and  with  an  allotted  labour,  came  a  number  of 
old  women,  not  unmeet  representatives,  individually, 
for  either  of  the  weird  sisters  of  the  Scottish  Thane, 

"  So  withered  and  so  wild  in  their  attire — " 

and,  regarding  their  cries  and  actions,  of  whom  we  may 
safely  affirm,  that  they  looked  like  any  thing  but  inhab- 
itants of  earth !  In  their  hands  they  bore,  each  of 
them,  a  flaming  torch,  of  the  rich  and  gummy  pine  ; 
and  these  they  waved  over  the  heads  of  the  multitude 
in  a  thousand  various  evolutions,  accompanying  each 
movement  with  a  fearful  cry,  which,  at  regular  periods, 
was  chorused  by  the  assembled  mass.  A  bugle,— a 
native  instrument  of  sound,  five  feet  or  more  in  length, 
hollowed  out  from  the  commonest  timber,  the  cracks 
and  breaks  of  which  were  carefully  sealed  up  with  the 
resinous  gum  oozing  from  their  burning  torches,  and 
which,  to  this  day,  borrowed  from  the  natives,  our 
negroes  employ  on  the  southern  waters  with  a  peculiar 
18* 


210  THE    VEMASSEfc. 

compass  and  variety  of  note — gave  forth  at  intervals, 
timed  with  much  regularity,  a  long,  protracted,  single 
blast,  adding  greatly  to  the  solemnity  of  a  scene,  one 
of  the  most  imposing  among  their  customs.  At  the 
articulation  of  these  sounds,  the  circles  continued  to 
contract,  though  slowly ;  until,  at  length,  but  a  brief 
space  lay  between  the  armed  warriors,  the*  crowd,  and 
the  unhappy  victim. 

The  night  grew  dark  of  a  sudden,  and  the  sky  was 
obscured  by  one  of  the  brief  tempests  that  usually  usher 
in  the  summer,  and  mark  the  transition,  in  the  south,  of 
one  season  to  another.  A  wild  gust  rushed  along  the 
wood.  The  leaves  were  whirled  over  the  heads  of  the 
assemblage,  and  the  trees  bent,  downward,  until  they 
cracked  and  groaned  again  beneath  the  wind.  A  feeling 
of  natural  superstition  crossed  the  minds  of  the  multi- 
tude, as  the  hurricane,  though  common  enough  in  that 
region,  passed  hurriedly  along  ;  and  a  spontaneous  and 
universal  chorus  of  prayer  rose  from  their  lips,  in  their 
own  wild  and  emphatic  language,  to  the  evil  deity  whose 
presence  they  beheld  in  its  progress. — 

"  Thy  wing,  Opitchi-Manneyto, 
It  o'erthrows  the  tall  trees — 
Thy  breath,  Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Makes  the  waters  tremble — 
Thou  art  in  the  hurricane, 
When  the  wigwam  tumbles — 
Thou  art  in  the  arrow-fire, 
When  the  pine  is  shiver'd— 
But  upon  the  Yemassee, 
Be  thy  coming  gentle — 
Are  they  not  thy  well-beloved  ? 
Bring  they  not  a  slave  to  thee  '< 
Look  !  the  slave  is  bound  for  thee, 
'Tis  the  Yemassee  that  brings  him. 
Pass,  Opitchi-Manneyto — 
Pass,  black  spirit,  pass  from  us — 
Be  thy  passage  gentle." 

And,  as  the  uncouth  strain  rose  at  the  conclusion  into 
a  diapason  of  unanimous  and  contending  voices,  of  old 
and  young,  male  and  female,  the  brief  summer  tempest 
had  gone  by.  A  shout  of  self-gratulation,  joined  with 
warm  acknowledgments,  testified  the  popular  sense 


THE    YEMASSEE.  211 

and  confidence  in  that  especial  Providence,  which  even 
the  most  barbarous  nations  claim  as  for  ever  working 
in  their  behalf. 

At  this  moment,  surrounded  by  the  chiefs  and  pre- 
ceded by  the  great  prophet  or  high-priest,  Enoree- 
Mattee,  came  Sanutee,  the  well-beloved  of  the  Yemas- 
see,  to  preside  over  the  destinies  of  his  son.  There 
was  a  due  and  becoming  solemnity,  but  nothing  of  the 
peculiar  feelings  of  the  father,  visible  in  his  counte- 
nance. Blocks  of  trees  were  placed  around  as  seats 
for  the  chiefs,  but  Sanutee  and  the  prophet  threw 
themselves,  with  more  of  imposing  veneration  in  the 
proceeding,  upon  the  edge  of  the  tumulus,  just  where 
an  overcharged  spot,  bulging  out  with  the  crowding 
bones  of  its  inmates,  had  formed  an  elevation  answering 
such  a  purpose.  They  sat  directly  looking  upon  the 
prisoner,  who  reclined,  bound  securely  upon  his  back 
to  a  decapitated  tree,  at  a  little  distance  before  them. 
A  signal  having  been  given,  the  women  ceased  their 
shoutings,  and  approaching  him,  they  waved  theii 
torches  so  closely  above  his  head  as  to  make  all  his 
features  distinctly  visible  to  that  now  watchful  and 
silent  multitude.  He  bore  the  examination  with  a  stern, 
unmoved  cast  of  expression,  which  the  sculptor  of 
marble  might  well  have  desired  for  his  block.  While 
the  torches  waved,  one  of  the  women  now  cried  aloud, 
in  a  barbarous  chant,  above  him — 

■"  Is  not  this  a  Yemassee  ? 
Wherefore  is  he  bound  thus — 
Wherefore,  with  the  broad  arrow 
On  his  right  arm  growing, 
Wherefore  is  he  bound  thus — 
Is  not  this  a  Yemassee  V 

A  second  woman  now  approached  him,  waving  her 
torch  in  like  manner,  seeming  closely  to  inspect  his 
features,  and  actually  passing  ner  fingers  over  the 
emblem  upon  his  shoulder,  as  if  to  ascertain  more  cer- 
tainly the  truth  of  the  image.  Having  done  this,  she 
turned  about  to  the  crowd,  and  in  the  same  barbarous 
sort  of  strain  with  the  preceding,  replied  as  follows  : — 


212  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  It  is  not  the  Yemassee, 
But  a  dog  that  runs  off. 
From  his  right  arm  take  the  arrow, 
He  is  not  the  Yemassee." 

As  these  words  were  uttered,  the  crowd  of  women  and 
children  around  cried  out  for  the  execution  01  the 
judgment  thus  given,  and  once  again  flamed  the  torches 
wildly,  and  the  shoutings  were  general  among  the 
multitude.  When  they  had  subsided,  a  huge  Indian 
came  forward  directly  before  the  prisoner — smeared 
with  blood  and  covered  with  scalps  which,  connected 
together  by  slight  strings,  formed  a  loose  robe  over  his 
shoulders.  In  one  hand  he  carried  a  torch,  in  the 
other  a  knife.  This  was  Malatchie,  the  executioner 
of  the  nation.  He  came  forward,  under  the  instructions 
of  Enoree-Mattee,  the  prophet,  to  claim  the  slave  of 
Opitchi-Manneyto, — that  is,  in  our  language,  the  slave 
of  hell.     This  he  did  in  the  following  strain : — 

"  'Tis  Opitchi-Manneyto 
In  Malatchie's  ear  that  cries, 
That  is  not  the  Yemassee — 
And  the  woman's  word  is  true — > 
He's  a  dog  that  should  be  mine, 
I  have  hunted  for  him  long. 
a  :From  his  master  he  hath  run, 
With  the  stranger  made  his  home, 
Now  I  have  him,  he  is  mine- 
That  Opitchi-Manneyto." 

And,  as  the  besmeared  and  malignant  executioner 
howled  his  fierce  demand  in  the  very  ears  of  his  vic- 
tim, he  hurled  the  knife  which  he  carried,  upwards, 
with  such  dexterity  into  the  air,  that  it  rested,  point 
downward,  and  sticking  fast  on  its  descent,  into  the 
tree  and  just  above  the  head  of  the  doomed  Occones- 
toga.  "With  his  hand,  at  the  next  instant,  he  laid  a 
resolute  gripe  upon  the  shoulder  of  the  victim,  as  if  to 
confirm  and  strengthen  his  claim  by  actual  possession  ; 
while,  at  the  same  time,  with  a  sort  of  malignant 
oleasure,  he  thrust  his  besmeared  and  distorted  visage 
close  into  that  of  his  prisoner.  Writhing  against  the 
ligaments  which  bound  him  fast,  Qcconestoga  strove 


THE    YEMASSLE.  213 

to  turn  his  head  aside  from  the  disgusting  and  obtrusive 
presence  ;  and  the  desperation  of  his  effort,  but  that 
he  had  been  too  carefully  secured,  might  have  resulted 
in  the  release  of  some  of  his  limbs ;  for  the  breast  heaved 
and  laboured,  and  every  muscle  of  his  arms  and  legs 
was  wrought,  by  his  severe  action,  into  a  rope,  hard, 
full,  and  indicative  of  prodigious  strength. 

There  was  one  person  in  that  crowd  who  sympa- 
thized with  the  victim ;  and  this  was  Hiwassee,  the 
maiden  in  whose  ears  he  had  uttered  a  word,  which,  in 
her  thoughtless  scream  and  declaration  of  the  event, 
for  she  had  identiried  him,  had  been  the  occasion  which 
led  to  his  captivity.  Something  of  self-reproach  for 
her  share  in  his  misfortune,  and  an  old  feeling  of  regard 
for  Occonestoga,  who  had  once  been  a  favourite  with  the 
young  of  both  sexes  among  his  people,  was  at  work  in 
her  bosom;  and,  turning  to  Echotee,  her  newly-accept- 
ed lover,  as  soon  as  the  demand  of  Malatchie  had  been 
heard,  she  prayed  him  to  resist  the  demand.  In  such 
cases,  all  that  a  warrior  had  to  do  was  simply  to  join 
issue  upon  the  claim,  and  the  popular  will  then  deter- 
mined the  question.  Echotee  could  not  resist  an 
application  so  put  to  him,  and  by  one  who  had  just 
listened  to  a  prayer  of  his  own,  so  all-important  to  his 
own  happiness  ;  and  being  himself  a  noble  youth,  one 
who  had  been  a  rival  of  the  captive  in  his  better  days, 
a  feeling  of  generosity  combined  with  the  request  of 
Hiwassee,  and  he  boldly  leaped  forward.  Seizing 
the  knife  of  Malatchie,  which  stuck  in  the  tree,  he 
drew  it  forth  and  threw  it  upon  the  ground,  thus 
removing  the  sign  of  property  which  the  executioner 
had  put  up  in  behalf  of  the  evil  deity. 

"  Occonestoga  is  the  brave  of  Yemassee,"  exclaimed 
the  young  Echotee,  while  the  eyes  of  the  captive  looked 
what  his  lips  could  not  have  said.  "  Occonestoga  is 
a  brave  of  Yemassee — he  is  no  dog  of  Malatchie. 
Wherefore  is  the  cord  upon  the  limbs  of  a  free  war- 
rior ?  Is  not  Occonestoga  a  free  warrior  of  Yemassee  ? 
The  eyes  of  Echotee  have  looked  upon  a  warrior  like 
Occonestoga,  when  he  took  many  scalps.     Did  not 


214  THE    YEMASSEE* 

Occonestoga  lead  the  Yemassee  against  the  Savan- 
nahs ?  The  eyes  of  Echotee  saw  him  slay  the  red- 
eyed  Suwannee,  the  great  chief  of  the  Savannahs.  Did 
not  Occonestoga  go  on  the  war-path  with  our  young 
braves  against  the  Edistoes,  the  brown-foxes  that  came 
out  of  the  swamp  1  The  eyes  of  Echotee  beheld  him. 
Occonestoga  is  a  brave,  and  a  hunter  of  Yemassee — 
he  is  not  the  dog  of  Malatchie.  He  knows  not  fear. 
He  hath  an  arrow  with  wings,  and  the  panther  he  runs 
down  in  chase.  His  tread  is  the  tread  of  a  sly  serpent 
that  comes,  so  that  he  hears  him  not,  upon  the  track  of 
the  red  deer,  feeding  down  in  the  valley.  Echotee 
knows  the  warrior — Echotee  knows  the  hunter — he 
knows  Occonestoga,  but  he  knows  no  dog  of  Opitchi- 
Manneyto." 

"  He  hath  drunk  of  the  poison  drink  of  the  pale-faces 
• — his  feet  are  gone  from  the  good  path  of  the  Ye- 
massee— he  would  sell  his  people  to  the  English  for 
a  painted  bird.  He  is  the  slave  of  Opitchi-Manneyto," 
cried  Malatchie,  in  reply.  Echotee  was  not  satisfied 
to  yield  the  point  so  soon,  and  he  responded  accordingly. 

"  It  is  true.  The  feet  of  the  young  warrior  have 
gone  away  from  the  good  paths  of  the  Yemassee,  but 
I  see  not  the  weakness  of  the  chief,  when  my  eye 
looks  back  upon  the  great  deeds  of  the  warrior.  I 
see  nothing  but  the  shrinking  body  of  Suwannee  under 
the  knee,  under  the  knife  of  the  Yemassee.  I  hear 
nothing  but  the  war-whoop  of  the  Yemassee,  when 
we  broke  through  the  camp  of  the  brown-foxes,  and 
scalped  them  where  they  skulked  in  the  swamp.  I 
see  this  Yemassee  strike  the  foe  and  take  the  scalp, 
and  I  know  Occonestoga — Occonestoga,  the  son  of  the 
well-beloved — the  great  chief  of  the  Yemassee." 

"  It  is  good — Occonestoga  has  thanks  for  Echotee — 
Echotee  is  a  brave  warrior !"  murmured  the  captive  to 
his  champion,  in  tones  of  melancholy  acknowledg- 
ment. The  current  of  public  feeling  began  to  set 
strongly  towards  an  expression  of  sympathy  in  behalf 
of  the  victim,  and  an  occasional  whisper  to  that 
effect  might  be  heard  here  and  there  among  the  mul- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  215 

litude.  Even  Malatchie  himself  looked  for  a  moment 
as  if  he  thought  it  not  improbable  that  he  might  be 
defrauded  of  his  prey ;  and,  while  a  free  shout  from 
many  attested  the  compliment  which  all  were  willing 
to  pay  Echotee  for  his  magnanimous  defence  of  one, 
who  had  once  been  a  successful  rival  in  the  general 
estimation,  the  executioner  turned  to  the  prophet  and 
to  Sanutee,  as  if  doubtful  whether  or  not  to  proceed 
farther  in  his  claim.  Bat  all  doubt  was  soon  quieted, 
as  the  stern  father  rose  before  the  assembly.  Every 
sound  was  stilled  in  expectation  of  his  words  on  so 
momentous  an  occasion.  They  waited  not  long. 
The  old  man  had  tasked  all  the  energies  of  the 
patriot,  not  less  than  of  the  stoic,  and  having  once 
determined  upon  the  necessity  of  the  sacrifice,  he  had 
no  hesitating  fears  or  scruples  palsying  his  determi- 
nation. He  seemed  not  to  regard  the  imploring  glance 
of  his  son,  seen  and  felt  by  all  besides  in  the  assem- 
bly ;  but  with  a  voice  entirely  unaffected  by  the  cir- 
cumstances of  his  position,  he  spoke  forth  the  doom 
in  confirmation  with  that  originally  expressed. 

"  Echotee  has  spoken  like  a  brave  warrior  with  a 
tongue  of  truth,  and  a  soul  that  has  birth  with  the  sun. 
But  he  speaks  out  of  his  own  heart — and  does  not 
speak  to  the  heart  of  the  traitor.  The  Yemassee  will 
all  say  for  Echotee,  but  who  can  say  for  Occonestoga 
when  Sanutee  himself  is  silent  ?  Does  the  Yemassee 
speak  with  a  double  tongue  ?  Did  not  the  Yemassee 
promise  Occonestoga  to  Opitchi-Manneyto  with  the 
other  chiefs?  Where  are  they?  They  are  gone  into  the 
swamp,  where  the  sun  shines  not,  and  the  eyes  of 
Opitchi-Manneyto  are  upon  them.  He.  knows  them 
for  his  slaves.  The  arrow  is  gone  from  their  shoul- 
ders, and  the  Yemassee  knows  them  no  longer.  Shall 
the  dog  escape,  who  led  the  way  to  the  English — who 
brought  the  poison  drink  to  the  chiefs,  which  made 
them  dogs  to  the  English  and  slaves  to  Opitchi-Man- 
neyto ?  Shall  he  escape  the  doom  the  Yemassee 
hath  put  upon  them  ?  Sanutee  speaks  the  voice  of 
the  Manneyto.     Occonestoga  is  a  dog,  who  would  sell 


216  THE  YEMASSEE^j 

his  father — who  would  make  us  women  to  carry  water 
for  the  pale-faces.  He  is  not  the  son  of  Sanutee — 
Sanutee  knows  him  no  more.  'Look, — Yemassees — 
the  well-beloved  has  spoken  !". 

He  paused,  and  turning  away,  sunk  down  silently 
upon  the  little  bank  on  which  he  had  before  rested  ; 
while  Malatchie,  without  further  opposition — for  the 
renunciation  of  his  own  son  by  one  so  highly  esteemed 
as  Sanutee,  was  conclusive  against  the  youth — ad- 
vanced to  execute  the  terrible  judgment  upon  his  victim. 

"  Oh  !  father,  chief,  Sanutee" — burst  convulsively 
from  the  lips  of  the  prisoner — "  hear  me,  father — Oc- 
conestoga  will  go  on  the  war-path  with  thee,  and  with 
the  Yemassee — against  the  Edisto,  against  the  Span- 
iard— hear,  Sanutee — he  will  go  with  thee  against  the 
English." — But  the  old  man  bent  not — yielded  not,  and 
the  crowd  gathered  nigher. 

"  Wilt  thou  have  no  ear,  Sanutee  ? — it  is  Occones- 
toga — it  is  the  son  of  Matiwan  that  speaks  to  thee." 
Sanutee's  head  sunk  as  the'  reference  was  made  to 
Matiwan,  but  he  showed  no  other  sign  of  emotion. 
He  moved  not — he  spoke  not,  and  bitterly  and  hope- 
lessly the  youth  exclaimed — 

"  Oh !  thou  art  colder  than  the  stone-house  of  the 
adder — and  deafer  than  his  ears.  Father,  Sanutee, 
wherefore  wilt  thou  lose  me,  even  as  the  tree  its  leaf, 
when  the  storm  smites  it  in  summer  ?  Save  me, — 
father." 

And  his  head  sunk  in  despair,  as  he  beheld  the  un- 
changing look  of  stern  resolve  with  which  the  un- 
bending sire  regarded  him.  For  a  moment  he  was 
unmanned  ;  until  a  loud  shout  of  derision  from  the 
crowd,  regarding  his  weakness,  came  to  the  support  of 
his  pride.  The  -Indian  shrinks  from  humiliation, 
where  he  would  not  shrink  from  death ;  and,  as  the 
shout  reached  his  ears,  he  shouted  back  his  defiance, 
raised  his  head  loftily  in  air,  and  with  the  most  perfect 
composure,  commenced  singing  his  song  of  death,  the 
song  of  many  victories. 

"  Wherefore  sings  he  his  death-song  ?"  was  the 
general  inquiry,  "  he  is  not  to  die  !" 


THE  YEMASSEE.  217 

"  Thou  art  the  slave  of  Opitchi-Manneyto,"  cried 
Malatchie  to  the  captive — "  thou  shalt  sing  no  lie  of 
thy  victories  in  the  ear  of  Yemassee.  The  slave  of 
Opitchi-Manneyto  has  no  triumph" — and  the  words  of 
the  song  were  effectually  drowned,  if  not  silenced,  in 
the  tremendous  clamour  .which  they  raised  about  him. 
It  was  then  that  Malatchie  claimed  his  victim — the 
doom  had  been  already  given,  but  the  ceremony  of 
expatriation  and  outlawry  was  yet  to  follow,  and  under 
the  direction  of  the  prophet,  the  various  castes  and 
classes  of  the  nation  prepared  to  take  a  final  leave  of 
one  who  could  no  longer  be  known  among  them. 
First  of  all  came  a  band  of  young,  marriageable 
women,  who,  wheeling  in  a  circle  three  times  about 
him,  sung  together  a  wild  apostrophe  containing  a 
bitter  farewell,  which  nothing  in  our  language  could 
perfectly  imbody. 

"  Go, — thou  hast  no  wife  in  Yemassee — thou  hast 
given  no  lodge  to  the  daughter  of  Yemassee — thou  hast 
slain  no  meat  for  thy  children.  Thou  hast  no  name — 
(he  women  of  Yemassee  know  thee  no  more.  They 
know  thee  no  more." 

And  the  final  sentence  was  reverberated  from  the 
entire  assembly — 

"  They  know  thee  no  more — they  know  thee  no 
more." 

Then  came  a  number  of  the  ancient  men — the  patri- 
archs of  the  nation,  who  surrounded  him  in  circular 
mazes  three  several  times,  singing  as  they  did  so  a 
hymn  of  like  import. 

"  Go — thou  sittest  not  in  the  council  of  Yemassee — 
thou  shalt  not  speak  wisdom  to  the  boy  that  comes. 
Thou  hast  no  name  in  Yemassee — the  fathers  of 
Yemassee,  they  know  thee  no  more." 

And  again  the  whole  assembly  cried  out,  as  with 
one  voice — "  they  know  thee  no  more,  they  know  thee 
no  more." 

These  were  followed  by  the  young  warriors,  his  old 
associates,  who  now,  in  a  solemn  band,  approached 
him  to  go  through  a  like  performance.     His  eyes  sunk 

Vol.  I.  19 


218  THE    YEMASSEE. 

gloomily  as  they  came — his  blood  was  chilled  to  his 
heart,  and  the  articulated  farewell  of  their  wild  chant 
failed  seemingly  to  reach  his  ear.  Nothing  but  the 
last  sentence  he  heard — 

"  Thou  that  wast  a  brother, 
Thou  art  nothing  now — 
The  young  warriors  of  Yemassee, 
They  know  thee  no  more." 

And  the  crowd  cried  with  them — "  they  know  thee 
no  more." 

"  Is  no  hatchet  sharp  for  Occonestoga  V — moaned 
forth  the  suffering  savage.  But  his  trials  were  only  then 
begun.  Enoree-Mattee  now  approached  him  with  the 
words,  with  which,  as  the  representative  of  the  good 
Manneyto,  he  renounced  him, — with  which  he  denied 
him  access  to  the  Indian  heaven,  and  left  him  a  slave 
and  an  outcast,  a  miserable  wanderer  amid  the  shadows 
and  the  swamps,  and  liable  to  all  the  dooms  and 
terrors  which  come  with  the  service  of  Opitchi-Man- 
neyto. 

"  Thou  wast  the  child  of  Manneyto" — 

sung  the  high-priest  in  a  solemn  chant,  and  with  a 
deep-toned  voice  that  thrilled  strangely  amid  the  silence 
of  the  scene. 

"  Thou  wast  a  child  of  Manneyto, 
He  gave  thee  arrows  and  an  eye, — 
Thou  wast  the  strong  son  of  Manneyto, 
He  gave  thee  feathers  and  a  wing — 
Thou  wast  a  young  brave  of  Manneyto, 
He  gave  thee  scalps  and  a  war-song — 
But  he  knows  thee  no  more — he  knows  thee  no  more." 

And  the  clustering  multitude  again  gave  back  the  last 
line  in  wild  chorus.     The  prophet  continued  his  chant: 

"  That  Opitchi-Manneyto  claims  thee, 
He  commands  thee  for  his  slave — 
And  the  Yemassee  must  hear  him, 
Hear,  and  give  thee  for  his  slave — 
They  will  take  from  thee  the  arrow, 
The  broad  arrow  of  thy  people — 
Thou  shalt  see  no  blessed  valley, 
Where  the  plum-groves  always  bloom — 
Thou  shalt  hear  no  song  of  valour, 
From  the  old  time  Yemassee — 


THE    YEMASSEE.  219 

Father,  mother,  name,  and  people, 
Thou  shalt  lose  with  that  broad  arrow, 
Thou  art  lost  to  the  Manneyto — 
He  knows  thee  no  more,  he  knows  thee  no  more." 

The  despair  of  hell  was  in  the  face  of  the  victim, 
and  he  howled  forth,  in  a  cry  of  agony,  that  for  a 
moment  silenced  the  wild  chorus  of  the  crowd  around, 
the  terrible  consciousness  in  his  mind  of  that  privation 
which  the  doom  entailed  upon  him.  Every  feature 
was  convulsed  with  emotion — and  the  terrors  of  Opit- 
chi-Manneyto's  dominion  seemed  already  in  strong 
exercise  upon  the  muscles  of  his  heart,  when  Sanutee, 
the  father,  silently  approached,  and  with  a  pause  of  a 
few  moments,  stood  gazing  upon  the  son  from  whom 
he  was  to  be  separated  eternally — whom  not  even  the 
uniting,  the  restoring  hand  of  death  could  possibly 
restore  to  him.  And  he — his  once  noble  son — the 
pride  of  his  heart,  the  gleam  of  his  hope,  the  trium- 
phant warrior,  who  was  even  to  increase  his  own 
glory,  and  transmit  the  endearing  title  of  well-beloved, 
which  the  Yemassee  had  given  him,  to  a  succeeding 
generation.  These  promises  were  all  blasted,  and 
the  father  was  now  present  to  yield  him  up  for  ever — 
to  deny  him — to  forfeit  him,  in  fearful  penalty,  to  the 
nation  whose  genius  he  had  wronged,  and  whose  rights 
he  had  violated.  The  old  man  stood  for  a  moment, 
rather,  we  may  suppose,  for  the  recovery  of  resolution, 
than  with  any  desire  for  his  contemplation.  The  pride 
of  the  youth  came  back  to  him, — the  pride  of  the 
strong  mind  in  its  desolation — as  his  eye  caught  the 
inflexible  glance  of  his  unswerving  father;  and  he 
exclaimed  bitterly  and  loud  : — 

"  Wherefore  art  thou  come — thou  hast  been  my  foe, 
not  my  father — away — I  would  not  behold  thee  !"  and 
he  closed  his  eyes  after  the  speech,  as  if  to  relieve 
himself  from  a  disgusting  presence. 

"  Thou  hast  said  well,  Occonestoga — Sanutee  is  thy 
foe — he  is  not  thy  father.  To  say  this  in  thy  ears 
has  he  come.  Look  on  him,  Occonestoga — look  up, 
and  hear  thy  doom.     The  young  and  the  old  of  the 


220  THE    YEMASSEE. 

Yemassee — the  warrior  and  the  chief,- — they  have  all 
forgotten  thee.  Occonestoga  is  no  name  for  the 
Yemassee.  The  Yemassee  gives  it  to  his  dog.  The 
prophet  of  Manneyto  has  forgotten  thee — thou  art  un- 
known to  those  who  are  thy  people.  And  I,  thy  father 
— with  this  speech,  I  yield  thee  to  Opitchi-Manneyto. 
Sanutee  is  no  longer  thy  father — thy  father  knows  thee 
no  more" — and  once  more  came  to  the  ears  of  the 
victim  that  melancholy  chorus  of  the  multitude — 
"  He  knows  thee  no  more — he  knows  thee  no  more." 
Sanutee  turned  quickly  away  as  he  had  spoken,  and, 
as  if  he  suffered  more  than  he  was  willing  to  show, 
the  old  man  rapidly  hastened  to  the  little  mound  where 
he  had  been  previously  sitting — his  eyes  diverted  from 
the  further  spectacle.  Occonestoga,  goaded  to  madness 
by  these  several  incidents,  shrieked  forth  the  bitterest 
execrations,  until  Enoree-Mattee,  preceding  Malatchie, 
again  approached.  Having  given  some  directions  in 
an  under-tone  to  the  latter,  he  retired,  leaving  the 
executioner  alone  with  his  victim.  Malatchie,  then, 
while  all  was  silence  in  the  crowd — a  thick  silence, 
in  which  even  respiration  seemed  to  be  suspended — 
proceeded  to  his  duty  ;  and,  lifting  the  feet  of  Occo- 
nestoga carefully  from  the  ground,  he  placed  a  log 
under  them — then  addressing  him,  as  he  again  bared 
his  knife  which  he  stuck  in  the  tree  above  his  head, 
he  sung — 

"  I  take  from  thee  the  earth  of  Yemassee— 

I  take  from  thee  the  water  of  Yemassee — 

I  take  from  thee  the  arrow  of  Yemassee— 

Go — thou  art  no  Yemassee, 

Yemassee  knows  thee  no  more." 

"  Yemassee  knows  thee  no  more,"  cried  the  mul- 
titude, and  their  universal  shout  was  deafening  upon 
the  ear.  Occonestoga  said  no  word  now — he  could 
offer  no  resistance  to  the  unnerving  hands  of  Malatchie, 
who  now  bared  the  arm  more  completely  of  its  cover- 
ing. But  his  limbs  Avere  convulsed  with  the  spasms 
of  that  dreadful  terror  of  the  future  which  was  racking 
and  raging  in  every  nerve  of  his  frame.  The  silence 
of  all  indicated  the  general  anxiety ;  and  Malatchie 


THE    YEMAS3EE.  221 

prepared  to  seize  the  knife  and  perform  the  operation, 
when  a  confused  murmur  arose  from  the  crowd  around  ; 
the  mass  gave  way  and  parted,  and,  rushing  wildly 
into  the  area,  came  Matiwan,  his  mother — the  long 
black  hair  streaming — the  features,  an  astonishing 
likeness  to  his  own,  convulsed  like  his ;  and  her  action 
that  of  one  reckless  of  all  things  in  the  way  of  the  for- 
ward progress  she  was  making  to  the  person  of  her 
child.  She  cried  aloud  as  she  came — with  a  voice 
that  rung  like  a  sudden  death-bell  through  the  ring — 

"  Would  you  keep  the  mother  from  her  boy,  and  he 
to  be  lost  to  her  for  ever  1  Shall  she  have  no  parting 
with  the  young  brave  she  bore  in  her  bosom  ?  Away, 
keep  me  not  back — I  will  look  upon,  I  will  love  him. 
He  shall  have  the  blessing  of  Matiwan,  though  the 
Yemassee  and  the  Manneyto  curse." 

The  victim  heard,  and  a  momentary  renovation  of 
mental  life,  perhaps  a  renovation  of  hope,  spoke  out 
in  the  simple  exclamation  which  fell  from  his  lips. 

"  Oh,  Matiwan — oh,  mother." 

She  rushed  towards  the  spot  where  she  heard  his 
appeal,  and  thrusting  the  executioner  aside,  threw  her 
arms  desperately  about  his  neck. 

"  Touch  him  not,  Matiwan,"  was  the  general  cry 
from  the  crowd. — "  Touch  him  not,  Matiwan — Man- 
neyto knows  him  no  more." 

"  But  Matiwan  knows  him — the  mother  knows  hei 
child,  though  the  Manneyto  denies  him.  Oh,  boy — 
oh,  boy,  boy,  boy."  And  she  sobbed  like  an  infant  on 
his  neck. 

"Thou  art  come,  Matiwan — thou  art  come,  but  where- 
fore 1 — to  curse  like  the  father — to  curse  like  the 
Manneyto,"  mournfully  said  the  captive. 

"  No,  no,  no !  Not  to  curse — not  to  curse.  When 
did  mother  curse  the  child  she  bore  ?  Not  to  curse, 
but  to  bless  thee. — To  bless  thee  and  forgive." 

"  Tear  her  away,"  cried  the  prophet ;  "  let  Opitchi- 
Manneyto  have  his  slave." 

"  Tear  her  away,  Malatchie,"  cried  the  crowd,  impa- 
tient for  the  execution.     Malatchie  approached. 
19* 


222  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  Not  yet — not  yet,"  appealed  the  woman.  "  Shall 
not  the  mother  say  farewell  to  the  child  she  shall  see 
no  more  V  and  she  waved  Malatchie  hack,  and  in  the 
next  instant,  drew  hastily  from  the  drapery  of  her  dress 
a  small  hatchet,  which  she  had  there  carefully  con- 
cealed. 

"What  wouldst  thou  do,  Matiwan?"  asked  Occo- 
nestoga,  as  his  eye  caught  the  glare  of  the  weapon. 

"  Save  thee,  my  boy — save  thee  for  thy  mother, 
Occonestoga — save  thee  for  the  happy  valley." 

"  Wouldst  thou  slay  me,  mother — Avouldst  strike  the 
heart  of  thy  son  ?"  he  asked,  with  a  something  of  re- 
luctance to  receive  death  from  the  hands  of  a  parent. 

"  I  strike  thee  but  to  save  thee,  my  son  : — since  they 
cannot  take  the  totem  from  thee  after  the  life  is  gone. 
Turn  away  from  me  thy  head — let  me  not  look  upon 
thine  eyes  as  I  strike,  lest  my  hands  grow  weak  and 
tremble.    Turn  thine  eyes  away — I  will  not  lose  thee." 

His  eyes  closed,  and  the  fatal  instrument,  lifted  above 
her  head,  was  now  visible  in  the  sight  of  all.  The 
executioner  rushed  forward  to  interpose,  but  he  came 
too  late.  The  tomahawk  was  driven  deep  into  the 
scull,  and  but  a  single  sentence  from  his  lips  preceded 
the  final  insensibility  of  the  victim. 

"  It  is  good,  Matiwan,  it  is  good — thou  hast  saved  me 
— the  death  is  in  my  heart."  And  back  he  sunk  as  he 
spoke,  while  a  shriek  of  mingled  joy  and  horror  from 
the  lips  of  the  mother  announced  the  success  of  her 
effort  to  defeat  the  doom,  the  most  dreadful  in  the  ima- 
gination of  the  Yemassee. 

"  He  is  not  lost — he  is  not  lost.  They  may  not 
take  the  child  from  his  mother.  They  may  not  keep 
him  from  the  valley  of  Manneyto.  He  is  free — he  is 
free."  And  she  fell  back  in  hysterics  into  the  arms  of 
Sanutee,  who  by  this  time  had  approached.  She  had 
defrauded  Opitchi-Manneyto  of  his  victim,  for  they 
may  not  remove  the  badge  of  the  nation  from  any  but 
the  living  victim. 

END    OF   VOL.   I. 


THE  YEMASSEE. 


A    ROMANCE     OF     CAROLINA 


BY    THE  AUTHOR    OF 

"GUY  RIVERS,"  "MARTIN  FABER,"  &c. 


'  Thus  goes  the  empire  down — the  people  shout, 
And  perish.  From  the  vanishing  wreck,  I  save 
One  frail  memorial." 


IN     TWO     VOLUMES. 
VOL.     II. 


NEW-YORK: 

Harper  &  Brothers,  82  Cliff-st. 

1844. 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1835, 

by  Hakper  &  Brothers, 

in  the  Clerk's  office  of  the  Southern  District  of  New-York- 


THE    YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  For  love  and  war  are  twins,  and  both  are  made 
Of  a  strange  passion,  which  misleads  the  sense, 
And  makes  the  feeling  madness.    Thus  they  grow, 
The  thorn  and  flower  together,  wounding  oft, 
When  most  seductive." 

Some  men  only  live  for  great  occasions.  They 
sleep  in  the  calm — but  awake  to  double  life,  and  un- 
looked-for activity,  in  the  tempest.  They  are  the 
zephyr  in  peace,  the  storm  in  war.  They  smile  unf'l 
you  think  it  impossible  they  should  ever  do  otherwise, 
and  you  are  paralyzed  when  you  behold  the  change 
which  an  hour  brings  about  in  them.  Their  whole  life 
in  public  would  seem  a  splendid  deception  ;  and  as  their 
minds  and  feelings  are  generally  beyond  those  of  the 
great  mass  which  gathers  about,  and  in  the  end  depends 
upon  them,  so  they  continually  dazzle  the  vision  and 
distract  the  judgment  of  those  who  passingly  observe 
them.  Such  men  become  the  tyrants  of  all  the  rest, 
and,  as  there  are  two  kinds  of  tyranny  in  the  world, 
they  either  enslave  to  cherish  or  to  destroy. 

Of  this  class  was  Harrison, — erratic,  daring,  yet 
thoughtful, — and  not  to  be  measured  by  such  a  mind 
as  that  of  the  pastor,  Matthews.  We  have  seen  his 
agency — a  leading  agency — in  much  of  the  business  of 
the  preceding  narrative.  It  was  not  an  agency  of  the 
moment,  but  of  continued  exertion,  the  result  of  a  due 
recognition  of  the  duties  required  at  his  hands.  Nor 
is  this  agency  to  be  discontinued  now.  He  is  still 
busy,  and,  under  his  direction  and  with  his  assistance, 
the  sound  of  the  hammer,  and  the  deep  echo  of  the 
axe,  in  the  hands  of  Granger,  the  smith,  and  Hector, 


4  THE    YEMASSEE. 

were  heard  without  intermission  in  the  Block  House, 
"  closing  rivets  up,"  and  putting  all  things  in  a  state  of 
preparation  for  those  coming  dangers  which  his  active 
mind  had  predicted.  He  was  not  to  be  deceived  by 
the  thousand  shows  which  are  apt  to  deceive  others. 
He  looked  more  deeply  into  principles  and  the  play 
of  moods  in  other  men,  than  is  the  common  habit ; 
and  while  few  of  the  borderers  estimated  with  him 
the  amount  of  danger  and  difficulty  which  he  felt  to 
be  at  hand,  he  gave  himself  not  the  slightest  trouble 
in  considering  their  vague  speculations,  to  which  a  lib- 
eral courtesy  might  have  yielded  the  name  of  opinions. 
His  own  thoughts  were  sufficient  for  him  ;  and  while 
this  indifference  may  seem  to  have  been  the  product 
of  an  excess  of  self-esteem,  we  shall  find  in  the  sequel 
that,  in  the  present  case,  it  arose  from  a  strong 
conviction,  the  legitimate  result  of  a  calm  survey  of 
objects  and  actions,  and  a  cool  and  deliberate  judgment 
upon  them. 

We  have  beheld  some  of  his  anxieties  in  the  strong 
manifestation  which  he  gave  to  Occonestoga,  when  he 
despatched  the  unfortunate  young  savage  as  a  spy,  on  an 
adventure  which  had  found  such  an  unhappy  and  un- 
looked-for termination.  Entirely  ignorant  of  the  event,  it 
was  with  no  small  impatience  that  his  employer  waited 
for  his  return  during  the  entire  night  and  the  greaterpor- 
tion  of  the  ensuing  day.  The  distance  was  not  so  great 
between  the  two  places,  but  that  the  fleet-footed  Indian 
might  have  readily  overcome  it  in  a  night,  giving  him 
sufficient  allowance  of  time  also  for  all  necessary 
discoveries  ;  and,  doubtless,  such  would  have  been  the 
case  but  for  his  ill-advised  whisper  in  the  ear  of 
Hiwassee,  and  the  not  less  ill-advised  visit  to  the 
cottage  of  Matiwan.  The  affection  of  the  mother  for 
the  fugitive  and  outlawed  son,  certainly,  deserved  no 
less ;  but  while  it  demanded  that  regardful  return, 
which,  amid  all  his  errors,  he  fondly  gave  her,  the 
policy  of  the  warrior  was  sadly  foregone  in  that  in- 
discreet proceeding.  His  failure — the  extent  yet  un- 
known to  Harrison — left  the  latter  doubtful  whether  to 


THE    YEMASSEE.  5 

ascribe  it  to  his  misfortune,  or  to  treachery  ;  and  this 
doubt  contributed  greatly  to  his  solicitude.  In  spite  of 
the  suggestions  of  Granger,  who  knew  the  young  war- 
rior of  old,  he  could  not  help  suspecting  him  of  deser- 
tion from  the  English  cause  as  a  concession  by  which 
to  secure  himself  a  reinstatement  in  the  confidence  of 
his  people  ;  and  this  suspicion,  while  it  led  to  new 
preparations  for  the  final  issue,  on  the  part  of  Harrison, 
was  fruitful  at  the  same  time  of  exaggerated  anxiety 
to  his  mind.  To  much  of  the  drudgery  of  hewing  and 
hammering,  therefore,  he  subjected  himself  with  the 
rest ;  and  though  cheerful  in  its  performance,  the  most 
casual  observer  could  have  readily  seen  how  much 
station  and  education  had  made  him  superior  to  such 
employ.  Having  thus  laboured  for  some  time,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  other  parts  of  his  assumed  duties,  and 
mounting  his  steed, — a  favourite  and  fine  chestnut — 
and  followed  by  Dugdale,  who  had  been  carefully 
muzzled,  he  took  his  way  in  a  fleet  gallop  through  the 
intricacies  of  the  surrounding  country. 

The  mystery  was  a  singular  one  which  hung  over 
Harrison  in  all  that  region.  It  was  strange  how 
people  loved  him — how  popular  he  had  become,  even 
while  in  all  intrinsic  particulars  so  perfectly  unknown. 
He  had  somehow  won  golden  opinions  from  all  the 
borderers,  wild,  untameable,  and  like  the  savages,  as 
in  many  cases  they  were  ;  and  the  utmost  confidence 
was  placed  in  his  opinions,  even  when,  as  at  this 
time  was  the  case,  they  happened  to  differ  from  the 
general  tenour  of  their  own.  This  confidence,  indeed, 
had  been  partially  given  in  the  first  instance,  from  the 
circumstance  of  his  having  taken  their  lead  suddenly, 
when  all  were  panic  stricken  around  ;  and  with  an 
audacity  that  looked  like  madness,  but  which  in  a  time 
of  panic  is  good  policy,  had  gone  forth  to  the  encoun- 
ter with  the  Coosaws,  a  small  but  desperate  tribe, 
which  had  risen,  without  any  other  warning  than  the 
war-whoop,  upon  the  Beaufort  settlement.  His  valour 
on  this  occasion,  obtained  from  the  Indians  themselves 
the  nom  de  guerre  of  Coosah-moray-te,  or  the  Coosaw- 


6  THE    YEMASSEE. 

killer ;  and  one  that  seems  to  have  been  well  deserved, 
for  in  that  affair  the  tribe  nearly  suffered  annihilation, 
and  but  a  single  town,  that  of  Coosaw-hatchie,  or  the 
refuge  of  the  Coosaws,  was  left  them  of  all  their  pos- 
sessions. The  poor  remains  of  their  people  from  that 
time  became  incorporated  with  the  Yemassees.  His 
reckless  audacity,  cheerful  freedom,  mingled  at  the 
same  time  so  strangely  with  playfulness  and  cool  com- 
posure, while  exciting  the  strongest  interest,  created 
the  warmest  regard  among  the  foresters  ;  and  though  in 
all  respects  of  residence  and  family  utterly  unknown 
save  to  one,  or  at  the  most,  to  two  among  them — ap- 
pearing as  he  did,  only  now  and  then,  and  as  suddenly 
disappearing — yet  all  were  glad  when  he  came,  and 
sorry  when  he  departed.  Esteeming  him  thus, 
they  gave  him  the  command  of  the  "  green  jackets," 
the  small  corps  which,  in  that  neighbourhood,  the 
affair  of  the  Coosaws  had  first  brought  into  something 
like  regular  existence.  He  accepted  tnis  trust  readily, 
but  freely  assured  his  men  that  he  might  not  be  present 
— such  were  his  labours  elsewhere — at  all  times  to  dis- 
charge the  duties.  Such,  however,  was  his  popularity 
among  them,  that  a  qualification  like  this  failed  to 
affect  their  choice.  They  took  him  on  his  own  terms, 
called  him  Captain  Harrison,  or,  more  familiarly, 
captain,  and  never  troubled  themselves  for  a  single 
instant  to  inquire  whether  that  were  his  right  name  or 
not ;  though,  if  they  had  any  doubts,  they  never  suf- 
fered them  to  reach,  certainly  never  to  offend,  the 
ears  of  their  commander.  The  pastor,  rather  more 
scrupulous,  as  he  thought  upon  his  daughter,  lacked 
something  of  this  confidence.  We  have  seen  how  his 
doubts  grew  as  his  inquiries  had  been  baffled.  The 
reader,  if  he  has  not  been  altogether  inattentive  to  the 
general  progress  of  the  narrative,  has,  probably,  at  this 
moment,  a  more  perfect  knowledge  of  our  hero  than 
either  of  these  parties. 

But  to  return.  Harrison  rode  into  the  neighbouring 
country,  all  the  settlements  of  which  he  readily  ap- 
peared to  know.     His  first  visit  in  that  quarter  had 


THE    YEMASSEE.  7 

been  the  result  of  curiosity  in  part,  and  partly  in  con- 
sequence of  some  public  responsibilities  coming  with 
an  official  station,  as  by  this  time  the  reader  will  have 
conjectured.  A  new  and  warmer  interest  came  with 
these,  soon  after  he  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  the 
beautiful  Bess  Matthews ;  and  having  involved  his 
own  affections  with  that  maiden,  it  was  not  long  before 
he  found  himself  able  to  command  hers.  The  father 
of  Bess  objected,  as  the  stranger  was  unknown,  if 
not  nameless  ;  but  when  did  love  ever  seriously  regard 
the  inclinations  of  papa?  Bess  loved  Gabriel,  and  the 
exhortations  of  the  old  gentleman  had  only  the  effect 
of  increasing  a  passion  which  grows  vigorous  from 
restraint,  and  acquires  obstinacy  from  compulsion. 

But  the  lover  went  not  forth  on  this  occasion  in 
quest  of  his  mistress.  His  labours  were  more  im- 
posing, if  less  grateful.  He  went  forth  among  his 
troop  and  their  families.  He  had  a  voice  of  warning 
for  all  the  neighbouring  cottagers — a  warning  of  danger, 
and  an  exhortation  to  the  borderers  to  be  in  perfect 
readiness  for  it,  at  the  well-known  signal.  But  his 
warning  was  in  a  Avord — an  emphatic  sentence — 
which,  once  uttered,  affected  in  no  particular  his  usual 
manner.  To  one  and  another  he  had  the  cheerful 
encouragement  of  the  brother  soldier — the  dry  sarcasm 
to  the  rustic  gallant — the  innocuous  jest  to  the  half- 
won  maiden ;  and,  with  the  ancient  grandsire  or 
grandam,  the  exciting  inquiry  into  old  times — merry 
old  England,  or  hilarious  Ireland — or  of  whatever 
other  faderland  from  which  they  might  severally  have 
come. 

This  adjusted,  and  having  prepared  all  minds  for 
events  which  his  own  so  readily  foresaw — having 
counselled  the  more  exposed  and  feeble  to  the  shelter 
of  the  Block  House  at  the  first  sign  of  danger, — the 
lover  began  to  take  the  place  of  the  commander,  and 
in  an  hour  we  find  him  in  the  ancient  grove — the  well- 
known  place  of  tryst,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
dwelling  of  old  Matthews.  And  she  was  there — the 
girl  of  seventeen — confiding,  yet  blushing  at  her  own 
20 


8  THE    YEMASSEE. 

confidence,  with  an  affection  as  warm  as  it  was  un- 
qualified and  pure.  She  hung  upon  his  arm — she  sat 
beside  him,  and  the  waters  of  the  little  brooklet 
gushed  into  music  as  they  trickled  on  by  their  feet. 
The  air  was  full  of  a  song  of  love — the  birds  sung 
it — the  leaves  sighed  it — the  earth  echoed,  in  many  a 
replication,  its  delicious  burden,  and  they  felt  it. 
There  is  no  life,  if  there  be  no  love.  Love  is  the  life 
of  nature — all  is  unnatural  without  it. — The  golden 
bowl  has  no  wine,  if  love  be  not  at  its  bottom — the  in- 
strument has  no  music  if  love  come  not  with  the  strain. 
Let  me  perish — let  me  perish,  when  I  cease  to  love- 
when  others  cease  to  love  me. 

So  thought  the  two — so  felt  they — and  an  hour  of 
delicious  dreaming  threw  into  their  mutual  souls  a 
linked  hope,  which  promised  not  merely  a  future  and 
a  lasting  union  to  their  forms,  but  an  undecaying  life 
to  their  affections.  They  felt  in  reality  that  love  must 
be  the  life  of  heaven  ! 

"  Thou  unmann'st  me,  Bess — thou  dost,  my  Armida — ■ 
the  air  is  enchanted  about  thee,  and  the  active  energy 
which  keeps  me  ever  in  motion  when  away  from  thee, 
is  gone,  utterly  gone,  when  thou  art  nigh.  Wherefore 
is  it  so  1  Thou  art  my  tyrant — I  am  weak  before 
thee — full  of  fears,  Bess — timid  as  a  child  in  the 
dark." 

"  Full  of  hopes  too,  Gabriel,  is  it  not  ?  And  what 
is  the  hope  if  there  be  no  fear — no  doubt  ?  They 
sweeten  each  other.  I  thy  tyrant,  indeed — when  thou 
movest  me  as  thou  wiliest !  When  I  have  eyes  only 
for  thy  coming,  and  tears  only  at  thy  departure." 

"  And  hast  thou  these  always,  Bess,  for  such  occa- 
sions ?  Do  thy  smiles  always  hail  the  one,  and  thy 
tears  always  follow  the  other  ? — I  doubt,  Bess,  if 
always." 

"  And  wherefore  doubt — thou  hast  eyes  for  mine, 
and  canst  see  for  thyself." 

"  True,  but  knowest  thou  not  that  the  lover  looks 
most  commonly  for  the  beauty,  and  not  often  for  the 
sentiment  of  his  sweetheart's  face  ?     It  is  this  which 


the:  yemassee.  9 

they  mean  when  the  poets  tell  of  love's  hlindness. 
The  light  of  thy  eye  dims  and  dazzles  the  gaze  of 
mine,  and  I  must  take  the  tale  from  thy  lips — " 

"And  safely  thou  mayst,  Gabriel — " 

"  May  I — I  hardly  looked  to  find  thee  so  consenting, 
Bess — "  exclaimed  the  lover,  taking  her  response  in  a 
signification  rather  at  variance  with  that  which  she 
contemplated,  and,  before  she  was  aware,  warmly 
pressing  her  rosy  mouth  beneath  his  own. 

"  Not  so — not  so — "  confused  and  blushing  she  ex- 
claimed, withdrawing  quickly  from  his  grasp.  "I 
meant  to  say — " 

"  I  know — I  know, — thou  wouldst  have  said,  I  might 
safely  trust  to  the  declaration  of  thy  lips — and  so  I 
do,  Bess — and  want  no  other  assurance.  I  am  happy 
that  thy  words  were  indirect,  but  I  am  better  assured 
as  it  is,  of  what  thou  wouldst  have  said." 

"  Thou  wilt  not  love  me,  Gabriel,  that  thus  I  favour 
thee — thou  seest  how  weak  is  the  poor  heart  which 
so  waits  upon  thine,  and  wilt  cease  to  love  what  is  so 
quickly  won." 

"  It  is  so  pretty,  thy  chiding,  Bess,  that  to  have  thee 
go  on,  it  were  well  to  take  another  assurance  from  thy 
lips." 

"  Now,  thou  shalt  not — it  is  not  right,  Gabriel; 
besides,  my  father  has  said — " 

"  What  he  should  not  have  said,  and  will  be  sorry 
for  saying.  He  has  said  that  he  knows  me  not,  and 
indeed  he  does  not,  and  shall  not  as  long  as  in  my 
thought  it  is  unnecessary,  and  perhaps  unwise,  that  1 
should  be  known  to  him." 

"  But,  why  not  to  me — why  shouldst  thou  keep  thy 
secret  from  me,  Gabriel  1  Thou  couldst  surely  trust 
it  to  my  keeping." 

"  Ay,  safely,  I  know,  were  it  proper  for  thee  to  know 
any  thing  which  a  daughter  should  of  right  withhold 
from  a  father.  But  as  I  may  not  give  my  secret  to 
him,  I  keep  it  from  thee  ;  not  fearing  thy  integrity,  but 
as  thou  shouldst  not  hold  a  trust  without  sharing  thy 
confidence  with  a  parent.     Trust  me,  ere  long  he  shall 


10  THE    YEMASSEE. 

know  all ;  but  now,  I  may  not  tell  him  or  thee.  I  may 
not  speak  a  name  in  this  neighbourhood,  where,  if  I 
greatly  err  not,  its  utterance  would  make  me  fine 
spoil  for  the  cunning  Indians,  who  are  about  some 
treachery." 

"  What,  the  Yemassees  V 

"  Even  they,  and  of  this  I  would  have  you  speak  to 
your  father.  I  would  not  foolishly  alarm  you,  but  go 
to  him.  Persuade  him  to  depart  for  the  Block  House, 
where  I  have  been  making  preparations  for  your  com- 
fort. Let  him  only  secure  you  all  till  this  vessel  takes 
herself  off.     By  that  time  we  shall  see  how  things  go." 

"  But  what  has  thisvesselto  do  with  it,  Gabriel?" 

"  A  great  deal,  Bess,  if  my  apprehensions  are  well 
grounded ;  but  the  reasons  are  tedious  by  which  I 
come  to  think  so,  and  would  only  fatigue  your  ear." 

"  Not  so,  Gabriel — I  would  like  to  hear  them,  for 
of  this  vessel,  or  rather  of  her  captain,  my  father 
knows  something.     He  knew  him  well  in  England." 

"  Ay  !"  eagerly  responded  Harrison — "  I  heard  that, 
you  know  ;  but,  in  reality,  what — who  is  he  ?" 

"  His  name  is  Chorley,  as  you  have  heard  him  say. 
My  father  knew  him  when  both  were  young.  They 
come  from  the  same  part  of  the  country.  He  was  a 
wild,  ill-bred  profligate,  so  my  father  said,  in  his 
youth  ;  unmanageable  and  irregular — left  his  parents, 
and  without  their  leave  went  into  a  ship  and  became  a 
sailor.  For  many  years  nothing  was  seen  of  him — 
by  my  father  at  least — until  the  other  day,  when,  by 
some  means  or  other  he  heard  of  us,  and  made  himself 
known  just  before  your  appearance.  I  never  saw  him 
to  know  or  remember  him  before,  but  he  knew  me 
when  a  child." 

"  And  do  you  know  what  he  is — and  his  vessel  ?" 

"  Nothing  but  this. — He  makes  voyages  from  St. 
Augustine  and  Cuba,  and  trades  almost  entirely  with 
the  Spaniards  in  that  quarter." 

"  But  why  should  he  have  no  connexion  here  with 
us  of  that  nature,  or  why  is  he  here  at  all  if  such  be  his 
business  t     This  is  one  of  the  grounds  of  my  appre- 


THE    VEMASSEE.  11 

hension — not  to  speak  of  the  affair  of  Hector,  which 
is  enough,  of  itself,  against  him." 

"  Ah — his  crew  is  ignorant  of  the  language,  and 
then  he  says,  so  he  told  us,  he  seeks  to  trade  for  furs 
with  the  Indians." 

"  Still,  not  enough.  None  of  these  reasons  are 
sufficient  to  keep  his  vessel  from  the  landing,  his  men 
from  the  shore,  and  himself  mysteriously  rambling  in 
the  woods  without  offering  at  any  object,  unless  it  be 
the  smuggling  of  our  slaves.  I  doubt  not  he  comes  to 
deal  with  the  Indians,  but  he  comes  as  an  emissary 
from  the  Spaniards,  and  it  is  our  skins  and  scalps  he 
is  after,  if  anything." 

"  Speak  not  so,  Gabriel,  you  frighten  me." 

"  Nay,  fear  not.  There  is  no  danger  if  we  keep 
our  eyes  open,  and  can  get  your  obstinate  old  knot  of 
a  father  to  open  his." 

"  Hush,  Gabriel — remember  he  is  my  father."  And 
she  looked  the  rebuke  which  her  lips  uttered. 

"  Ay,  Bess,  I  do  remember  it,  or  I  would  not  bother 
my  head  five  seconds  about  him.  I  should  gather  you 
up  in  my  arms  as  the  Pagan  of  old  gathered  up  his 
domestic  gods  when  the  earthquake  came,  and  be  off 
with  you  without  long  deliberating  whether  a  father 
were  necessary  to  your  happiness  or  not." 

"  Speak  not  so  lightly,  Gabriel — the  subject  is  too 
serious  for  jest." 

"  It  is,  Bess — quite  too  serious  for  jest,  and  I  do  not 
jest,  or  if  I  do  I  can't  help  it.  I  was  born  so,  and  it 
comes  to  the  same  thing  in  the  end.  This  is  another 
of  his  objections  to  me  as  your  husband.  I  do  not  tie 
up  my  visage  when  I  look  upon  you,  as  if  I  sickened 
of  the  thing  I  looked  on — and  he  well  knows  how  I  de- 
test that  hypocritical  moral  starch,  with  which  our 
would-be  saints  contrive  to  let  the  world  see  that  sun- 
shine is  sin,  and  a  smile  of  inborn  felicity  a  defiance 
thrown  in  the  teeth  of  the  very  God  that  prompts  it." 

"  But  my  father  is  no  hypocrite,  Gabriel." 

"  Then  why  hoist  their  colours  1  He  is  too  good  a 
man,  Bess,  to  be  their  instrument,  and  much  I  fear  me 
20* 


12  THE    YEMASSEE. 

that  he  is.  He  has  too  much  of  the  regular  round- 
head— the  genuine,  never-end-the-sermon  manner  of 
an  old  Noll  sanctifier.  I  would  forego  a  kiss — the 
sweetest,  Bess,  that  thy  lips  could  give — to  persuade 
the  old  man,  your  father,  but  for  a  single  moment,  into 
a  hearty,  manly,  honest,  unsophisticated,  downright 
laugh." 

"  It  is  true,  Gabriel,  he  laughs  not,  but  then  he  does 
not  frown." 

"  Not  at  thee,  Bess — not  at  thee  :  who  could  ?  but 
he  does  at  me,  most  ferociously,  and  his  mouth  puckers 
up  when  his  eye  rises  to  mine,  in  all  the  involutions 
of  a  pine  bur.  But,  forgive  me :  it  is  not  of  this  I 
would  speak  now.  I  will  forgive  though  I  may  not 
forget  his  sourness,  if  you  can  persuade  him  into  a 
little  precaution  at  the  present  moment.  There  is 
danger,  I  am  satisfied ;  and  your  situation  here  is  an 
exposed  one.  This  sailor-friend  or  acquaintance  of 
yours,  is  no  friend  if  he  deal  with  the  Spaniards  of 
St.  Augustine — certainly  an  enemy,  and  most  probably 
a  pirate.  I  suspect  him  to  be  the  latter,  and  have  my 
eyes  on  him  accordingly.  As  to  the  trade  with  the 
Indians  that  he  talks  of,  it  is  all  false,  else  why  should 
he  lie  here  so  many  days  without  change  of  position 
or  any  open  intercourse  with  them  ?  and  then,  what 
better  evidence  against  him  than  the  kidnapping  of 
Hector?" 

"  But  he  has  changed  his  position — his  vessel  has 
moved  higher  up  the  river." 

"  Since  when  ?" 

"  Within  the  last  three  hours.  Her  movement  was 
pointed  out  by  my  father  as  we  stood  together  on  the 
bluff  fronting  the  house." 

"  Indeed — this  must  be  seen  to,  and  requires  de- 
spatch. Come  with  me,  Bess.  To  your  father  at  once, 
and  say  your  strongest  and  look  your  sweetest.  Be 
twice  as  timid  as  necessary,  utter  a  thousand  fears  and 
misgivings,  but  persuade  him  to  the  shelter  of  the 
Block  House." 

"  Where  I  may  be  as  frequently  as  convenient  ip 


THE    YEMASSEE.  13 

the  company  of  Master  Gabriel  Harrison.  Is  it  not 
so  ?" — and  she  looked  up  archly  into  his  face.  For 
once  the  expression  of  his  look  was  grave,  and  his 
eye  gazed  deeply  down  into  her  own.  With  a  sobriety 
of  glance  not  unmixed  with  solemnity,  he  spoke — 

"  Ah,  Bess — if  I  lose  thee,  I  am  myself  lost !  But 
come  with  me — I  will  see  thee  to  the  wicket, — safe, 
ere  I  leave  thee,  beyond  the  province  of  the  rattle- 
snake." 

"  Speak  not  of  that,"  she  quickly  replied,  with  an 
involuntary  shudder,  looking  around  her  as  she  spoke, 
upon  the  spot,  just  then  contiguous,  associated  by  that 
scene,  so  deeply  with  her  memory.  He  led  her  to  the 
end  of  the  grove,  within  sight  of  her  father's  cottage, 
and  his  last  words  at  leaving  her  were  those  of  urgent 
entreaty,  touching  her  removal  to  the  Block  House. 


CHAPTER  II. 

*  Away,  thou  art  the  slave  of  a  base  thought, 
And  hast  no  will  of  truth.     I  scorn  thee  now, 
With  my  whole  soul,  as  once,  with  my  whole  soul, 
I  held  thee  worthy." 

But  Bess  Matthews  was  not  left  to  solitude,  though 
left  by  her  lover.  A  new  party  came  upon  the  scene, 
in  the  person  of  Hugh  Grayson,  emerging  from  the 
neighbouring  copse,  from  the  cover  of  which  he  had 
witnessed  the  greater  portion  of  the  interview  between 
Harrison  and  the  maiden.  This  unhappy  young  man, 
always  a  creature  of  the  fiercest  impulses,  in  a  moment 
of  the  wildest  delirium  of  that  passion  for  Bess  which 
had  so  completely  swallowed  up  his  better  judgment, 
not  less  than  all  sense  of  high  propriety,  had  been 
guilty,  though  almost  unconscious  at  the  time  of  the 
woful  error,  of  a  degree  of  espionage,  for  which,  the 
moment  after,  he  felt  many  rebukings  of  shame  and 


14  THE    YEMASSEE. 

conscience.  Hurried  on,  however,  by  the  impetuous 
impulse  of  the  passion  so  distracting  him,  the  fine 
sense,  which  should  have  been  an  impassable  barrier 
rising  up  like  a  wall  in  the  way  of  such  an  act,  had 
foregone  its  better  control  for  the  moment,  and  he  had 
lingered  sufficiently  long  under  cover  to  incur  the 
stigma,  as  he  now  certainly  felt  the  shame,  of  having 
played  the  part  of  a  spy.  But  his  error  had  its  punish- 
ment, even  in  its  own  progress.  He  had  seen  that 
which  contributed  still  more  to  increase  his  mortifica- 
tion, and  to  imbitter  his  soul  against  the  more  suc- 
cessful rival,  whose  felicities  he  had  beheld — scarcely 
able  to  clinch  the  teeth  in  silence  which  laboured  all 
the  while  to  gnash  in  agony.  With  a  cheek  in  which 
shame  and  a  purposeless  fury  alike  showed  them- 
selves, and  seemed  struggling  for  mastery,  he  now 
came  forward  ;  and  approaching  the  maiden,  addressed 
her  as  he  did  so  with  some  common  phrase  of  formal 
courtesy,  which  had  the  desired  effect  of  making  her 
pause  for  his  coming.  He  steeled  his  quivering 
muscles  into  something  like  rigidity,  while  a  vain  and 
vague  effort  at  a  smile,  like  lightning  from  the  cloud, 
strove  visibly  upon  his  features. 

"  It  is  not  solitude,  then,"  said  he,  "  that  brings  Miss 
Matthews  into  the  forest.  Its  shelter — its  secrecy 
alone,  is  perhaps  its  highest  recommendation." 

"  What  is  it  that  you  mean,  Master  Grayson,  by 
your  words  V  replied  the  maiden,  while  something  of 
a  blush  tinged  slightly  the  otherwise  pale  and  lily  com- 
plexion of  her  face. 

"  Surely  I  have  spoken  nothing  mysterious.  My 
thought  is  plain  enough,  I  should  think,  were  my  only 
evidence  in  the  cheek  of  Miss  Matthews  herself." 

"  My  cheek  speaks  nothing  for  me,  Master  Grayson, 
which  my  tongue  should  shame  to  utter;  and  if  you  have 
spoken  simply  in  reference  to  Gabriel — Master  Harri- 
son Imean — you  have  been  at  much  unnecessary  trou- 
ble. Methinks  too,  there  is  something  in  your  own  face 
that  tells  of  a  misplaced  watchfulness  on  your  part, 
where  your  neighbour  holds  no  watch  to  be  necessary." 


THE    YEMASSEE.  15 

"You  are  right,  Miss  Matthews — you  are  right. 
There  is — there  should  be,  at  least — in  my  face,  ac- 
knowledgment enough  of  the  baseness  which  led  me  as 
a  spy  upon  your  path — upon  his  path !"  replied  the 
young  man,  while  his  cheek  grew  once  more  alternately 
from  ashes  to  crimson.  "  It  was  base,  it  was  unmanly 
— but  it  has  had  its  punishment — its  sufficient  punish- 
ment, believe  me — in  the  discovery  which  it  has  made. 
I  have  seen  that,  Miss  Matthews,  which  I  would  not 
willingly  have  seen  ;  and  which  the  fear  to  see,  alone, 
led  to  the  accursed  survey.  Pardon  me,  then — pity 
me,  pity  if  you  can — though  I  can  neither  well  pardon 
nor  pity  myself." 

"  I  do  pardon  you,  sir — freely  pardon  you,  for  an 
error  which  I  should  not  have  thought  it  in  your  nature 
intentionally  to  commit ;  but  what  to  pity  you  for,  saving 
for  the  self-reproach  which  must  come  with  your  con- 
sciousness, I  do  not  so  well  see.  Your  language  is 
singular,  Master  Grayson." 

"  Indeed !  Would  I  could  be  so  blind.  You  have 
not  seen,  then — you  know  not  1  Look  at  me,  Miss 
Matthews — is  there  no  madness  in  my  eyes — on  my 
tongue — in  look,  word,  action?  Have  I  not  raved  in 
your  ears — never?" 

"No,  as  I  live,  never!"  responded  the  astonished 
maiden.  "  Speak  not  in  this  manner,  Master  Grayson 
— but  leave  me — permit  me  to  retire." 

"  Ha  !  you  would  go  to  him  !  Hear  me,  Bess  Mat- 
thews.— Do  you  know  him — this  stranger — this  adven- 
turer— -this  haughty  pretender,  whose  look  is  presump- 
tion 1  Would  you  trust  to  him  you  know  not  ?  What 
is  he  ?  Can  you  confide  in  one  whom  nobody  speaks 
for— whom  nobody  knows  ?  Would  you  throw  yourself 
upon  ruin — into  the  arms  of  a  stranger — a — " 

"  Sir,  Master  Grayson — this  is  a  liberty — " 

"  License,  rather,  lady  !  The  license  of  madness  ; 
for  I  am  mad,  though  you  see  it  not — an  abandoned 
madman ;  degraded,  as  you  have  seen,  and  almost 
reckless  of  all  things  and  thoughts,  as  all  may  see  in 
time.  God !  is  it  not  true  1  True  it  is,  and  you — you, 
Bess  Matthews — you  are  the  cause." 


16  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  1 1 — "  replied  the  maiden,  in  unmixed  astonishment. 

"  Ay,  you.  Hear  me.  I  love — I  loved  you,  Miss 
Matthews — have  long  loved  you.  We  have  been  to- 
gether almost  from  infancy ;  and  I  had  thought — for- 
give the  vanity  of  that  thought,  Bess  Matthews — I 
had  thought  that  you  might  not  altogether  have  been 
unkind  to  me.  For  years  I  had  this  thought — did  you 
not  know  it? — for  years  I  lived  on  in  the  sweet  hope — 
the  dear  promise  which  it  hourly  brought  me — for  years 
I  had  no  life,  if  I  had  not  this  expectation  !  •  In  an  evil 
hour  came  this  stranger — this  Harrison — it  is  not  long 
since — and  from  that  moment  I  trembled.  It  was  an 
instinet  that  taught  me  to  fear,  who  had  never  feared 
before.  I  saw,  yet  dreaded  to  believe  in  what  I  saw. 
I  suspected,  and  shrunk  back  in  terror  from  my  own 
suspicions.  But  they  haunted  me  like  so  many  damned 
spectres.  They  were  everywhere  around  me,  goading 
me  to  madness.  In  my  mood,  under  their  spur,  I  sunk 
into  the  spy.  I  became  degraded, — and  saw  all — all ! 
I  saw  his  lip  resting  upon  yours — warmly,  passion- 
ately— and  yours, — yours  grew  to  its  pressure,  Bess 
Matthews,  and  did  not  seek  to  be  withdrawn." 

"  No  more  of  this,  Master  Grayson — thou  hast 
thought  strange  and  foolish  things,  and  though  they 
surprise  me,  I  forgive  them — I  forgive  thee.  Thou 
hadst  no  reason  to  think  that  I  was  more  to  thee  than 
to  a  stranger,  that  I  could  be  more — and  I  feel  not  any 
self-reproach,  for  I  have  done  naught  and  said  naught 
which  could  have  ministered  to  thy  error.  Thy  un- 
wise, not  to  say  thy  unbecoming  and  unmanly  curiosity, 
Master  Grayson,  makes  me  the  less  sorry  that  thou 
shouldst  know  a  truth  which  thou  findest  so  painful  to 
know." 

"  Oh,  be  less  proud — less  stern,  Bess  Matthews. 
Thou  hast  taken  from  this  haughty  stranger  some  of 
his  bold  assumption  of  superiority,  till  thou  even  for- 
gettest  that  erring  affection  may  have  its  claim  upon 
indulgence." 

'*  But  not  upon  justice.  I  am  not  proud — thou  dost 
me  wrong,  Master  Grayson,  and  canst  neither  under- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  17 

stand  me  nor  the  noble  gentleman  of  whom  thy  words 
are  disrespectful." 

"And  what  is  he,  that  I  should  respect  him?  Am 
I  not  as  free — a  man, — an  honest  man — and  what  is 
he  more, — even  if  he  be  so  much  1  Is  he  more  ready- 
to  do  and  to  dare  for  thee  ? — Is  he  stronger  ? — Will  he 
fight  for  thee  ?     Ha  !  if  he  will !— " 

"  Thou  shalt  make  me  no  game-prize,  even  in  thy 
thought,  Master  Grayson — and  thy  words  are  less  than 
grateful  to  my  ears.     Wilt  thou  not  leave  me  ?" 

"Disrespectful  to  him,  indeed — a  proud  and  senseless 
swaggerer,  presuming  upon  his  betters.     I — " 

"  Silence,  sir  !  think,  what  is  proper  to  manhood,  and 
look  that  which  thou  art  not,"  exclaimed  the  aroused 
maiden,  in  a  tone  which  completely  startled  her  com- 
panion, while  she  gathered  herself  up  to  her  fullest 
height,  and  waved  him  off  with  her  hand.  "  Go,  sir — 
thou  hast  presumed  greatly,  and  thy  words  are  those 
of  the  ruffian,  as  thy  late  conduct  has  been  that  of  the 
hireling  and  the  spy.  Thou  think  that  I  loved  thee ' 
— that  I  thought  of  a  spirit  so  ignoble  as  thine  ; — and  A 
is  such  as  thou  that  would  slander  and  defame  my  Ga- 
briel,— he,  whose  most  wandering  thought  could  never 
compass  the  tithe  of  that  baseness  which  makes  up  thy 
whole  soul."  And  as  she  spoke  words  of  such  bitter 
import,  her  eye  flashed  and  the  beautiful  lips  curled  in 
corresponding  indignation,  while  her  entire  expression 
of  countenance  was  that  of  a  divine  rebuke.  The 
offender  trembled  with  convulsive  and  contradictory 
emotions,  and  for  a  few  moments  after  her  retort  had 
been  uttered,  remained  utterly  speechless.  He  felt 
the  justice  of  her  severity,  though  every  thought  and 
feeling,  in  that  instant,  taught  him  how  unequal  he 
was  to  sustain  it.  He  had,  in  truth,  spoken  without 
clear  intent,  and  his  language  had  been  in  no  respect 
under  the  dominion  of  reason.  But  he  regained  his 
energies  as  he  beheld  her,  with  an  eye  still  flashing 
fire  and  a  face  covered  with  inexpressible  dignity, 
moving  scornfully  away.  He  recovered,  though  with  a 
manner  wild  and  purposeless — his  hands  and  eyes  lift- 
ed imploringly — and  chokingly,  thus  addressed  her :— 


18  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  Leave  me  not — not  in  anger,  Bess  Matthews,  I 
implore  you.  I  have  done  you  wrong — done  him 
wrong:"  with  desperate  rapidity  he  uttered  the  last 
passage — "  I  have  spoken  unjustly,  and  like  a  mad- 
man. But  forgive  me.  Leave  me  not  therefore,  with 
an  unforgiving  thought,  since,  in  truth,  I  regret  my  error 
as  deeply  as  you  can  possibly  reprove  it." 

Proud  and  lofty  in  her  sense,  the  affections  of  Bess 
Matthews  were,  nevertheless,  not  less  gentle  than 
lofty.  She  at  once  turned  to  the  speaker,  and  the 
prayer  was  granted  by  her  glance,  ere  her  lips  had 
spoken. 

"  I  do — I  do  forgive  thee,  Master  Grayson,  in  con- 
sideration of  the  time  when  we  were  both  children. 
But  thou  hast  said  bitter  words  in  mine  ear,  which  thou 
wilt  not  hold  it  strange  if  I  do  not  over-soon  forget.  But 
doubt  not  that  I  do  forgive  thee  ;  and  pray  thee  for  thy 
own  sake — for  thy  good  name,  and  thy  duty  to  thyself 
and  to  the  good  understanding  which  thou  hast,  and  the 
honourable  feeling  which  thou  shouldst  have, — that 
thou  stray  not  again  so  sadly." 

"  I  thank  thee — I  thank  thee," — was  all  he  said,  as 
he  carried  the  frankly-extended  hand  of  the  maiden  to 
his  lips,  and  then  rushed  hurriedly  into  the  adjacent 
thicket. 


CHAPTER  m, 

"  Thus  human  reason,  ever  confident, 
Holds  its  own  side — half  erring  and  half  right, — 
Not  tutored  by  a  sweet  humility, 
That  else  might  safely  steer." 

Bred  up  amid  privation,  and  tutored  as  much  by 
its  necessities  as  by  a  careful  superintendence,  Bess 
Matthews  was  a  girl  of  courage,  not  less  than  of  feel- 
ing.    She  could  endure  and  enjoy ;  and  the  two  capa- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  19 

cities  were  so  happily  balanced  in  her  character,  that, 
while   neither  of  them   invaded  the  authority  of  the 
other,  they  yet  happily  neutralized  any  tendency  to  ex- 
cess on  either  side.     Still,  however,  her  susceptibilities 
were  great,  for  at  seventeen  the  affections  are  not  apt 
to  endure  much  provocation  ;  and  deeply  distressed 
with   the   previous   scene,  and,  with  that  gentleness 
which  was  her  nature,  grieved  sincerely  at  the  condition 
01  a  youth,  of  whom  she  had  heretofore  thought  so 
lavourably— but  not  to  such  a  degree  as  to  warrant  the 
nope  which  he  had  entertained,  and  certainly  without 
having  held  out  to  it  any  show  of  encouragement— she 
re-entered  her  father's  dwelling,  and  immediately  pro- 
ceeded to  her  chamber.     Though  too  much  excited 
by  her  thoughts  to  enter  with  her  father  upon  the  topic 
suggested  by  Harrison ,  and  upon  which  he  had  dwelt 
with  such  emphasis,  she  ^as    yet   strong  and   calm 
enough  for  a  close  self-examination.     Had  she  said  or 
done  any  thing  which  might  have  misled  Hugh  Gray- 
son?     This  was  the  question  which  her  fine  sense  of 
justice,  not  less  than  of  maidenly  piopriety   dictated 
for  her  answer  ;  and  with  that  close  and  calm  analvsis 
of  her  own  thoughts  and  feelings,  which  wSX 
be  the  result  of  a  due  acquisition  of  just  prihoJDles  in 
education,  she  referred  to  all  those  unerring  standards 
of  the  mind  which  virtue  and  common  sense  establish 
for  the   satisfaction  of  her  conscience,  against  those 
suggestions  of  doubt  with  which  her  feeling  had  as- 
sailed it,  on  the  subject  of  her  relations  with  that  person 
Her  feelings  grew  more  and  more  composed  as  the 
scrutiny  proceeded,     and  she  rose  at  last  from  the 
couch  upon  which  she  had  thrown  herself,  with  a  heart 
lightened  at  least  of  the  care  which  a  momentary  doubt 
of  its  own  propriety  had  inspired. 

There  was  another  duty  to  perform,  which  also  had 
its  difficulties.  She  sought  her  father  in  the  adjoin- 
ing chamber,  and  if  she  blushed  in  the  course  of  the 
recital,  injustice  to  maidenly  delicacy,  she  at  least  did 
not  scruple  to  narrate  fully  in  his  ears  all  the  particu- 
lars of  her  recent  meeting  with  Harrison,  with  a  sweet 
21 


20  THE    YEMASSEE. 

regard  to  maidenly  truth.  We  do  not  pretend  to  say 
that  she  dwelt  upon  details,  or  gave  the  questions  and 
replies — the  musings  and  the  madnesses  of  the  con- 
versation— for  Bess  had  experience  enough  to  know 
that  in  old  ears,  such  matters  are  usually  tedious 
enough,  and  that  in  this  respect,  they  differ  sadly  from 
young  ones.  She  made  no  long  story  of  the  meeting, 
though  she  freely  told  the  whole ;  and  with  all  her 
warmth  and  earnestness,  as  Harrison  had  counselled, 
she  proceeded  to  advise  the  old  man  of  the  dangers 
from  the  Indians,  precisely  as  her  lover  had  counselled 
herself. 

The  old  man  heard,  and  was  evidently  less  than 
satisfied  with  the  frequency  with  which  the  parties  met. 
He  had  not  denied  Bess  this  privilege — he  was  not 
stern  enough  for  that;  and,  possibly,  knowing  his 
daughter's  character  not  less  than  her  heart,  he  was  by 
no  means  unwilling  to  confide  freely  in  her.  But  still 
he  exhorted,  in  good  set  but  general  language,  rather 
against  Harrison  than  with  direct  reference  to  the  inti- 
macy between  me  two.  He  gave  his  opinion  on  that 
subject  too,  unfavourably  to  the  habit,  though  without 
uttering  wpy  distinct  command.  As  he  went  on  and 
warmed  with  his  own  eloquence,  his  help-mate, — an 
excellent  old  lady,  who  loved  her  daughter  too  well  to 
see  her  tears  and  be  silent — joined  freely  in  the  dis- 
course, and  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  question :  so 
that,  on  a  small  scale,  we  are  favoured  with  the  glimpse 
of  a  domestic  flurry,  a  slight  summer  gust,  which 
ruffles  to  compose,  and  irritates  to  smooth  and  pacify. 
Rough  enough  for  a  little  while,  it  was  happily  of  no 
great  continuance ;  for  the  old  people  had  lived  tco 
long  together,  and  were  quite  too  much  dependant  on 
their  mutual  sympathies,  to  suffer  themselves  to  play 
long  at  cross  purposes.  In  ceasing  to  squabble,  how- 
ever, Mrs.  Matthews  gave  up  no  point ;  and  was  too 
much  interested  in  the  present  subject  readily  to  fore- 
go the  argument  upon  it.  She  differed  entirely  from 
her  husband  with  regard  to  Harrison,  and  readily  sided 
with  her  daughter  in  favouring  his  pretensions.    He  had 


THE    YEMASSEE.  21 

a  happy  and  singular  knack  of  endearing  himself  to 
most  people ;  and  the  very  levity  which  made  him 
distasteful  to  the  pastor,  was,  strange  to  say,  one  of 
the  chief  influences  which  commended  him  to  his  lady. 

"  Bess  is  wrong,  my  dear,"  at  length  said  the  pastor, 
in  a  tone  and  manner  meant  to  be  conclusive  on  the 
subject — "  Bess  is  wrong — decidedly  wrong.  We 
know  nothing  of  Master  Harrison — neither  of  his 
family  nor  of  his  pursuits — and  she  should  not  encour- 
age him." 

"  Bess  is  right,  Mr.  Matthews,"  responded  the  old 
lady,  with  a  doggedness  of  manner  meant  equally  to 
close  the  controversy,  as  she  wound  upon  her  fingers 
from  a  little  skreel  in  her  lap,  a  small  volume  of  the 
native  silk.* — "  Bess  is  right — Captain  Harrison  is  a 
nice  gentleman — always  so  lively,  always  so  polite, 
and  so  pleasant. — I  declare,  I  don't  see  why  you  don't 
like  him,  and  it  must  be  only  because  you  love  to  go 
against  all  other  people." 

"  And  so,  my  dear,"  gently  enough  responded  the 
pastor,  "  you  would  have  Bess  married  to  a — nobody 
knows  who  or  what." 

"  Why,  dear  me,  John — what  is  it  you  don't  know  1 
I'm  sure  I  know  every  thing  I  want  to  know  about  the 
captain.     His  name's  Harrison — and — " 

*  The  culture  of  silk  was  commenced  in  South  Carolina  as  far 
back,  as  the  year  1702,  and  thirteen  years  before  the  date  of  this  nar- 
rative. It  was  introduced  by  Sir  Nathaniel  Johnston,  then  holding 
the  government  of  the  province  under  the  lords  proprietors.  This 
gentleman,  apart  from  his  own  knowledge  of  the  susceptibility,  for  its 
production,  of  that  region,  derived  a  stimulus  to  the  prosecution  of 
the  enterprise  from  an  exceeding  great  demand  then  prevailing  in 
England  for  the  article.  The  spontaneous  and  free  growth  of  the 
mulberry  in  all  parts  of  the  southern  country  first  led  to  the  idea 
that  silk  might  be  made  an  important  item  in  the  improving  list 
of  its  products.  For  a  time  he  had  every  reason  to  calculate  upon 
the  entire  success  of  the  experiment,  but  after  a  while,  the  pursuit 
not  becoming  immediately  productive,  did  not  consort  with  the  im- 
patient nature  of  the  southrons,  and  was  given  over — when  perhaps 
wanting  but  little  of  complete  success.  The  experiment,  however, 
was  prosecuted  sufficiently  long  to  show,  though  it  did  not  become 
an  object  of  national  importance,  how  much  might,  with  proper 
energy,  be  done  toward  making  it  such.  Of  late  days,  a  new  im- 
pulse has  been  given  to  the  trial,  and  considerable  quantities  of  silk 
are  annually  made  in  the  middle  country  of  South  Carolina. 


22  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  What  more  ?"  inquired  the  pastor  with  a  smile, 
seeing  that  the  old  lady  had  finished  her  silk  and 
speech  at  the  same  moment. 

"  Why  nothing,  John — but  what  we  do  know,  you 
will  admit,  is  highly  creditable  to  him ;  and  so,  I  do 
not  see  why  you  should  be  so  quick  to  restrain  the 
young  people,  when  we  can  so  easily  require  to  know 
all  that  is  necessary  before  we  consent,  or  any  decisive 
step  is  taken." 

"  But,  my  dear,  the  decisive  step  is  taken  when  the 
affections  of  our  daughter  are  involved." 

The  old  lady  could  say  nothing  to  this,  but  she  had 
her  word. 

"  He  is  a  nice,  handsome  gentleman,  John." 

;'  Beauty  is,  that  beauty  does,"  replied  the  pastor  in 
a  proverb. 

"  Well,  but  John,  he's  in  no  want  of  substance. 
He  has  money,  good  gold  in  plenty,  for  I've  seen  it 
myself — and  I'm  sure  that's  a  sight  for  sore  eyes,  after 
we've  been  looking  so  long  at  the  brown  paper  that 
the  assembly  have  been  printing,  and  which  they  call 
money.  Gold  now  is  money,  John,  and  Captain  Har- 
rison always  has  it." 

"  It  would  be  well  to  know  where  it  comes  from," 
doggedly  muttered  the  pastor. 

"  Oh,  John,  John — where's  all  your  religion  ?  How 
can  you  talk  so  ?  You  are  only  vexed  now — I'm  cer- 
tain that's  it — because  Master  Harrison  won't  satisfy 
your  curiosity." 

"  Elizabeth !" 

"  Well,  don't  be  angry  now,  John.  I  didn't  mean 
that  exactly,  but  really  you  are  so  uncharitable.  It's 
neither  sensible  nor  Christian  in  you.  Why  will  you 
be  throwing  up  hills  upon  hills  in  the  way  of  Bess' 
making  a  good  match  1" 

"  I  do  not,  Elizabeth  ;  that  is  the  very  point  which 
makes  me  firm." 

"  Stubborn,  you  mean. 

"  Well,  perhaps  so,  Elizabeth,  but  stubborn  I  will 
be  until  it  is  shown  to  be  a  good  match,  and  then  he 


THE    YEMASSEE.  23 

may  have  her  with  all  my  heart.  It  is  true,  I  love  not 
his  smart  speeches,  and  then  he  sometimes  makes  quite 
too  free.  But  I  shall  not  mind  that,  if  I  can  find  out  cer- 
tainly who  he  is,  and  that  he  comes  of  good  family,  and 
does  nothing  disreputable.  Remember,  Elizabeth,  we 
come  of  good  family  ourselves, — old  England  can't 
show  a  better  ;  and  we  must  be  careful  to  do  it  no  dis- 
credit by  a  connexion  for  our  child." 

"  That  is  all  true  and  very  sensible,  Mr.  Matthews, 
and  I  agree  with  you  whenever  you  talk,  to  the  point. 
Now  you  will  admit,  I  think,  that  I  know  when  a  gen- 
tleman is  a  gentleman,  and  when  he  is  not — and  I  tell 
you  that  if  Master  Harrison  is  not  a  gentleman,  then 
give  me  up,  and  don't  mind  my  opinion  again.  I 
don't  want  spectacles  to  see  that  he  comes  of  good 
family  and  is  a  gentleman." 

"  Yes,  your  opinion  may  be  right,  but  if  it  is  wrong — 
what  then  1     The  evil  will  be  past  remedy." 

"It  can't  be  wrong.  When  I  look  upon  him,  I'm 
certain — so  graceful  and  polite,  and  then  his  dignity 
and  good-breeding." 

"  Good-breeding,  indeed !"  and  this  exclamation  the 
pastor  accompanied  with  a  most  irreverend  chuckle, 
which  had  in  it  a  touch  of  bitterness.  "  Go  to  your 
chamber,  Bess,  my  dear,"  he  said,  turning  to  his  daugh- 
ter, who,  sitting  in  a  corner  rather  behind  her  mother, 
with  head  turned  downwards  to  the  floor,  had  heard 
the  preceding  dialogue  with  no  little  interest  and  dis- 
quiet. She  obeyed  the  mandate  in  silence,  and  when 
she  had  gone,  the  old  man  resumed  his  exclamation. 

"  Good-breeding,  indeed !  when  he  told  me,  to  my 
face^,  that  he  would  have  Bess  in  spite  of  my  teeth." 

The  old  lady  now  chuckled  in  earnest,  and  the  pas- 
tor's brow  gloomed  accordingly. 

"  Well,  I  declare,  John,  that  only  shows  a  fine-spir- 
ited fellow.  Now,  as  I  live,  if  I  were  a  young  man, 
in  the  same  way,  and  were  to  be  crossed  after  this 
fashion,  I'd  say  the  same  things  That  I  would.  I 
tell  vou,  John,  I  see  no  harm  in  it,  and  my  memory's 
21* 


24  THE    YEMASSEE. 

good,  John,  that  you  had  some  of  the  same  spirit  in 
our  young  days." 

"  Your  memory's  quite  too  good,  Elizabeth,  and  the 
less  you  let  it  travel  back  the  better  for  both  of  us," 
was  the  somewhat  grave  response.  "But  I  have 
something  to  say  of  young  Hugh — Hugh  Grayson,  I 
mean.  Hugh  really  loves  Bess — I'm  certain  quite 
as  much  as  your  Captain  Harrison.  Now,  we  know 
him !" 

"  Don't  speak  to  me  of  Hugh  Grayson,  Mr.  Mat- 
thews— for  it's  no  use.  Bess  don't  care  a  straw  for 
him." 

"  A  fine,  sensible  young  man,  very  smart,  and  likely 
to  do  well." 

"A  sour,  proud  upstart — idle  and  sulky — besides, 
he's  got  nothing  in  the  world." 

"  Has  your  Harrison  any  more  V 

"  And  if  he  hasn't,  John  Matthews — let  me  tell  you 
at  least,  he's  a  very  different  person  from  Hugh  Gray- 
son, besides  being  born  and  bred  a  gentleman." 

"  I'd  like  to  know,  Elizabeth,  how  you  come  at  that, 
that  you  speak  it  so  confidently." 

"  Leave  a  woman  alone  for  finding  out  a  gentleman 
bred  from  one  that  is  not ;  it  don't  want  study  and 
witnesses  to  tell  the  difference  betwixt  them.  We 
can  tell  at  a  glance." 

"  Indeed  !  But  I  see  it's  of  no  use  to  talk  with  you 
now.  You  are  bent  on  having  things  all  your  own 
way.  As  for  the  man,  I  believe  you  are  almost  as 
much  in  love  with  him  as  your  daughter."  And  this 
was  said  with  a  smile  meant  for  compromise  ;  but  the 
old  lady  went  on  gravely  enough  for  earnest. 

"  And  it's  enough  to  make  me,  John,  when  you  are 
running  him  down  from  morning  to  night,  though  you 
know  we  don't  like  it.  But  that's  neither  here  nor 
there.  His  advice  is  good,  and  he  certainly  means  it 
for  our  safety.  Will  you  do  as  Bess  said,  and  shall 
we  go  to  the  Block  House,  till  the  Indians  come  quiet 
again  ?" 

"  His  advice,  indeed !     You  help  his  plans  won- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  25 

drously.  But  I  see  through  his  object  if  you  do  not. 
He  only  desires  us  at  the  Block  House,  in  order  to  be 
more  with  Bess  than  he  possibly  can  be  at  present. 
He  is  always  there,  or  in  the  neighbourhood." 

"  And  you  are  sure,  John,  there's  no  danger  from 
the  Indians !" 

"  None,  none  in  the  world.  They  are  as  quiet  as 
they  well  can  be,  under  the  repeated  invasion  of  their 
grounds  by  the  borderers,  who  are  continually  hunting 
in  their  woods  By  the  way,  I  must  speak  to  young 
Grayson  on  the  subject.  He  is  quite  too  frequently 
over  the  bounds,  and  they  like  him  not." 

*'  Well,  well — but  this  insurrection,  John  V 

"  Was  a  momentary  commotion,  suppressed  instantly 
by  the  old  chief  Sanutee,  who  is  friendly  to  us  ;  and 
whom  they  have  just  made  their  great  chief,  or  king, 
in  place  of  Huspah,  whom  they  deposed.  Were  they 
unkindly  disposed,  they  would  have  destroyed,  and  not 
have  saved,  the  commissioners." 

"  But  Harrison  knows  a  deal  more  of  the  Indians 
than  any  body  else ;  and  then  they  say  that  Sanutee 
himself  drove  Granger  out  of  Pocota-li^o  " 

"  Harrison  says  more  than  he  can  unsay,  and  pre- 
tends to  more  than  he  can  ever  know ;  and  I  heed  not 
his  opinion.  As  for  the  expulsion  of  Granger,  I  do 
not  believe  a  word  of  it." 

"  I  wish,  John,  you  would  not  think  so  lightly  of 
Harrison.  You  remember  he  saved  us  when  the  Coo- 
saws  broke  out.  His  management  did  every  thing 
then-  Now,  don't  let  your  ill  opinion  of  the  man 
stand  in  the  way  of  proper  caution.  Remember, 
John, — your  wife — your  child." 

"  I  do,  Elizabeth ;  but  you  are  growing  a  child 
yourself." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  I'm  in  my  dotage  V  said  the 
old  lady,  quickly  and  sharply. 

"  No,  no,  not  that,"  and  he  smiled  for  an  instant — 
"  only,  that  your  timiditydoes  notsuit  your  experience. 
But  I  have  thought  seriously  on  the  subject  of  this 
threatened  outbreak,  and,  for  myself,  can  see  nothing  to 

Vol.  II. 


26  THE    YEMASSEE. 

fear  from  the  Yeraassees.  On  the  contrary,  they  have 
not  only  always  been  friendly  heretofore,  but  they  ap- 
pear friendly  now.  Several  of  them,  as  you  know, 
have  professed  to  me  a  serious  conviction  of  the  truth 
of  those  divine  lessons  which  I  have  taught  them ; 
and  when  I  know  this,  it  would  be  a  most  shameful 
desertion  of  my  duty  were  I  to  doubt  those  solemn 
avowals  which  they  have  made,  through  my  poor  in- 
strumentality, to  the  Deity." 

"  Well,  John,  I  hope  you  are  right,  and  that  Harri- 
son is  wrong.  To  God  I  leave  it  to  keep  us  from  evil : 
in  his  hands  there  are  peace  and  safety." 

'' Amen,  amen !"  fervently  responded  the  pastor,  as 
he  spoke  to  his  retiring  dame,  who,  gathering  up  her 
working  utensils,  was  about  to  pass  into  the  adjoining 
chamber.  "  Amen,  Elizabeth— though,  I  must  say,  the 
tone  of  your  expressed  reliance  upon  God  has  still  in 
it  much  that  is  doubtful  and  unconfiding.  Let  us  add 
to  the  prayer,  one  for  a  better  mood  along  with  the 
better  fortune."  '• 

Here  the  controversy  ended ;  the  old  lady,  as  her 
husband  alleged,  still  unsatisfied,  and  the  preacher 
himself  not  altogether  assured  in  his  own  mind  that  a 
lurking  feeling  of  hostility  to  Harrison,  rather  than  a  just 
sense  of  his  security,  had  not  determined  him  to  risk 
the  danger  from  the  Indians,  in  preference  to  a  better 
hope  of  safety"  in  the  shelter  of  the  Block  House. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  I  must  dare  all  myself.    I  cannot  dare, 
Avoid  the  danger.    There  is  in  my  soul, 
That  which  may  look  on  death,  but  not  on  shame." 

As  soon  as  his  interview  was  over  with  Bess 
Matthews,  Harrison  hurried  back  to  the  Block  House. 
He  there  received  confirmatory  intelligence  of  what 


THE    YEMASSEE.  2? 

she  had  told  him.  The  strange  vessel  had  indeed 
taken  up  anchors  and  changed  her  position.  Avail- 
ing herself  of  a  favouring  breeze,  she  ascended  the 
river,  a  few  miles  nigher  the  settlements  of  the 
Yemassees,  and  now  lay  fronting  the  left  wing  of  the 
pastor's  cottage ; — the  right,  of  it,  as  it  stood  upon 
the  jutting  tongue  of  land  around  which  wound  the 
river,  she  had  before  fronted  from  below.  The  new 
position  could  only  have  been  chosen  for  the  facility 
of  intercourse  with  the  Indians,  which,  from  the  want 
of  a  good  landing  on  this  side  of  the  river,  had  been 
wanting  to  them  where  she  originally  lay.  In  addition 
to  this  intelligence,  Harrison  learned  that  which  still 
farther  quickened  his  anxieties.  The  wife  of  Granger, 
a  woman  of  a  calm,  stern,  energetic  disposition,  who 
had  been  somewhat  more  observant  than  her  husband, 
informed  him  that  there  had  been  a  considerable  inter- 
course already  between  the  vessel  and  the  Indians 
since  her  remove — that  their  boats  had  been  around 
her  constantly  during  the  morning,  and  that  boxes  and 
packages  of  sundry  kinds  had  been  carried  from  her 
to  the  shore  ;  individual  Indians,  too,  had  been  dis- 
tinguished walking  her  decks  ;  a  privilege  which,  it  was 
well  known,  had  been  denied  to  the  whites,  who  had 
not  been  permitted  the  slightest  intercourse.  All  this 
confirmed  the  already  active  apprehensions  of  Har- 
rison. He  could  no  longer  doubt  of  her  intentions,  or 
of  the  intentions  of  the  Yemassees ;  yet,  how  to  pro- 
ceed— how  to  prepare — on  whom  to  rely — in  what 
quarter  to  look  for  the  attack,  and  what  was  the 
extent  of  the  proposed  insurrection ; — was  it  partial, 
or  general?  Did  it  include  the  Indian  nations  gen- 
erally— twenty-eight  of  which,  at  that  time,  occupied 
the  Carolinas,  or  was  it  confined  to  the  Yemassees 
and  Spaniards  1  and  if  the  latter  were  concerned,  were 
they  to  be  looked  for  in  force,  and  whether  by  land  or 
by  sea  ?  These  were  the  multiplied  questions,  and  to 
resolve  them  was  the  great  difficulty  in  the  way  of 
Harrison.  That  there  were  now  large  grounds  for  sus- 
picion, he  could  no  longer  doubt ;  but  how  to  proceed 


28  THE    YEMASSEE. 

in  arousing  the  people,  and  whether  it  were  necessary 
to  arouse  the  colony  at  large,  or  only  that  portion  of  it 
more  immediately  in  contact  with  the  Indians — and 
how  to  inform  them  in  time  fpr  the  crisis  which  he 
now  felt  was  at  hand,  and  involving  the  fate  of  the  in- 
fant colony — all  depended  upon  the  correctness  of 
his  acquired  information,  and  yet  his  fugitive  spy  came 
not  back,  sent  no  word,  and  might  have  betrayed  his 
mission. 

The  doubts  grew  with  their  contemplation.  The 
more  he  thought  of  the  recent  Yemassee  discontents, 
the  more  he  dreaded  to  think.  He  knew  that  this  dis- 
content was  not  confined  to  the  Yemassee,  but  extended 
even  to  the  waters  of  the  Keowee  and  to  the  Apalachian 
mountains.  The  Indians  had  suffered  on  all  sides 
from  the  obtrusive  borderers,  and  had  been  treated,  he 
felt  conscious,  with  less  than  regard  and  justice  by 
the  provincial  government  itself.  But  a  little  time 
before,  the  voluntary  hostages  of  the  Cherokees  had 
been  treated  with  indignity  and  harshness  by  the 
assembly  of  Carolina  ;  having  been  incarcerated  in  a 
dungeon  under  cruel  circumstances  of  privation,  which 
the  Cherokees  at  large  did  not  appear  to  feel  in  a  less 
degree  than  the  suffering  hostages  themselves,  and 
were  pacified  with  extreme  difficulty.  The  full  array 
of  these  circumstances  to  the  mind  of  Harrison,  satis- 
fied him  of  the  utter  senselessness  of  any  confidence  in 
that  friendly  disposition  of  the  natives,  originally  truly 
felt,  but  which  had  been  so  repeatedly  abused  as  to  be 
no  longer  entertained,  or  only  entertained  as  a  mask  to 
shelter  feelings  directly  opposite  in  character.  The 
increasing  consciousness  of  danger,  and  the  failure 
of  Oceonestoga,  on  whose  intelligence  he  had  so 
greatly  depended,  momentarily  added  to  his  disquiet, 
by  leaving  him  entirely  at  a  loss  as  to  the  time,  direc- 
tion, and  character  of  that  danger  which  it  had  been 
his  wish  and  province  to  provide  against.  Half  so- 
liloquizing as  he  thought,  and  half  addressing  Granger, 
who  stood  beside  him  in  the  upper  and  habitable  room 


THE    YEMASSEE.  29 

of  the  Block  House,  the  desire  of  Harrison  thus  found 
its  way  to  his  lips. 

"  Bad  enough,  Granger — and  yet  what  to  do — how  to 
move — for  there's  little  use  in  moving  without  a  pur- 
pose. We  can  do  nothing  without  intelligence,  and 
that  we  must  have  though  we  die  for  it.  We  must 
seek  and  find  out  their  aim,  their  direction,  their  force, 
and  what  they  depend  upon.  If  they  come  alone  we 
can  manage  them,  unless  they  scatter  simultaneously 
upon  various  points  and  take  us  by  surprise,  and  this, 
if  I  mistake  not,  will  be  their  course.  But  I  fear  this 
sailor-fellow  brings  them  an  ugly  coadjutor  in  the 
power  of  the  Spaniard.  He  comes  from  St.  Augus- 
tine evidently  ;  and  may  bring  them  men — a  concealed 
force,  and  this  accounts  for  his  refusal  to  admit  any  of 
our  people  on  board.  The  boxes  too, — did  you  mark 
them  well,  Granger  ?" 

"  As  well  as  I  might,  sir,  from  the  Chiefs  Bluff." 

"  And  what  might  they  contain,  think  you  ?" 

"  Goods  and  wares,  sir,  I  doubt  not :  blankets  per- 
haps— " 

"  Or  muskets  and  gunpowder.  Your  thoughts  run 
upon  nothing  but  stock  in  trade,  and  the  chance  of  too 
much  competition.  Now,  is  it  not  quite  as  likely  that 
those  boxes  held  hatchets,  and  knives,  and  fire-arms  1 
Were  they  not  generally  of  one  size  and  shape — long, 
narrow — eh  1  Did  you  note  that?" 

"  They  were,  my  lord,  all  of  one  size,  as  you 
describe  them.  I  saw  that  myself,  and  so  said  to 
Richard,  but  he  did  not  mind."  Thus  spoke  the  wife 
of  Granger,  in  reply  to  the  question  which  had  been 
addressed  to  her  husband. 

"  Did  you  speak  to  me  ?"  was  the  stern  response  of 
Harrison,  in  a  tone  of  voice  and  severity  not  usually 
employed  by  ihe  speaker,  accompanying  his  speerh  by 
a  keen  penetrating  glance,  which,  passing  alternately 
from  husband  to  wife,  seemed  meant  to  go  through  them 
both. 

"  I  did  speak  to  you,  sir, — and  you  will  forgive  me 
for  having  addressed  any  other   than   Captain  Har- 


30  THE    YEMASSEE. 

rison,"  she  replied,  composedly  and  calmly,  though 
in  a  manner  meant  to  conciliate  and  excuse  the  inad- 
vertence of  which  she  had  been  guilty  in  conferring 
upon  him  a  title  which  in  that  region  it  seemed  his 
policy  to  avoid.  Then,  as  she  beheld  that  his  glance 
continued  to  rest,  in  rebuke  upon  the  shrinking  features 
of  her  husband,  she  proceeded  thus — 

"  You  will  forgive  him  too,  sir,  I  pray  you  ;  but  it  is 
not  so  easy  for  a  husband  to  keep  any  secret  from  his 
wife,  and  least  of  all,  such  as  that  which  concerns  a 
person  who  has  provoked  so  much  interest  in  all." 

"You  are  adroit,  mistress,  and  your  husband  owes 
you  much.  A  husband  does  find  it  difficult  to  keep  any 
thing  secret  from  his  wife  but  his  own  virtues  ;  and  of 
those  she  seldom  dreams.  But  pray,  when  was  this 
wonderful  revelation  made  to  you  V 

"  You  were  known  to  me,  sir,  ever  since  the  For- 
esters made  you  captain,  just  after  the  fight  with  the 
Coosaws  at  Tulifinnee  Swamp." 

"  Indeed !"  was  the  reply ;  "  well,  my  good  dame,  you 
have  had  my  secret  long  enough  to  keep  it  now.  I 
am  persuaded  you  can  keep  it  better  than  your  hus- 
band. How  now,  Granger  !  you  would  be  a  politician 
too,  and  I  am  to  have  the  benefit  of  your  counsels,  and 
you  would  share  mine.  Is't  not  so— and  yet,  you  would 
fly  to  your  chamber,  and  share  them  with  a  tongue, 
which,  in  the  better  half  of  the  sex,  would  wag  it  on 
every  wind,  from  swamp  or  sea,  until  all  points  of  the 
compass  grew  wiser  upon  it." 

"Why,  captain,"  replied  the  trader,  half  stupidly, 
half  apologetically — "  Moll  is  a  close  body  enough." 

"  So  is  not  Moll's  worser  half,"  was  the  reply.  "  But 
no  more  of  this  folly.  There  is  much  for  both  of  us 
to  do,  and  not  a  little  for  you  if  you  will  do  it." 

"  Speak,  sir,  I  will  do  much  for  you,  captain." 

*,'  And  for  good  pay.  This  it  is.  You  must  to  the 
Yemassees — to  Pocota-ligo — see  what  they  do,  find 
out  what  they  design,  and  look  after  Occonestoga — are 
you  ready  V 

"It  were  a  great  risk,  captain." 


THE    YEMASSEE.  31 

»f  Why,  true,  and  life  itself  is  a  risk.  We  breathe 
not  an  instant  without  hazard  of  its  loss,  and  a  plum- 
stone,  to  an  open  mouth  at  dinner,  is  quite  as  perilous 
as  the  tenth  bullet.  Sleep  is  a  risk,  and  one  presses 
not  his  pillow  o'nights,  without  a  prayer  against 
eternity  before  morning.  Show  me  the  land  where 
we  risk  nothing,  and  I  will  risk  all  to  get  there." 

"  It's  as  much  as  my  life's  worth,  captain." 

"  Psha !  we  can  soon  count  up  that.  Thou  art 
monstrous  fond  of  thy  carcass,  now,  and  by  this  I 
know  thou  art  growing  wealthy.  We  shall  add  to  thy 
gains,  if  thou  wilt  go  on  this  service.  The  assembly 
will  pay  thee  well,  as  they  have  done  before.  Thou 
hast  not  lost  by  its  service." 

"  Nothing, sir — but  have  gained  greatly.  In  moderate 
adventure,  I  am  willing  to  serve  them  now ;  but  not  in 
this.  The  Yemassees  were  friendly  enough  then,  and 
so  was  Sanutee.  It  is  different  now,  and  all  the 
favour  I  could  look  for  from  the  old  chief,  would  be  a 
stroke  of  his  hatchet,  to  save  me  from  the  fire-torture." 

"  But  why  talk  of  detection  ?  I  do  not  desire  that 
thou  shouldst  allow  thyself  to  be  taken.  Think  you, 
when  I  go  into  battle,  the  thought  of  being  shot  ever 
troubles  me  1  no  !  If  I  thought  that,  I  should  not  per- 
haps go.  My  only  thought  is  how  to  shoot  others ; 
and  you  should  think,  in  this  venture,  not  of  your  own, 
but  the  danger  of  those  around  you.  You  are  a  good 
Indian  hunter,  and  have  practised  all  their  skill.  Take 
the  swamp,  hug  the  tree — line  the  thicket,  see  and 
hear,  nor  shout  till  you  are  out  of  the  wood.  There's 
no  need  to  thrust  your  nose  into  the  Indian  kettles." 

"  It  might  be  done,  captain  ;  but  if  caught,  it  would 
be  so  much  the  worse  for  me.     I  can't  think  of  it,  sir." 

"  Caught  indeed !  A  button  for  the  man  who  prefers 
fear  rather  than  hope.  Will  not  an  hundred  pounds 
teach  thee  reason  1  Look,  man,  it  is  here  with  thy 
wife — will  that  not  move  thee  to  it  ?" 

"  Not  five  hundred,  captain, — not  five  hundred," 
replied  the  trader,  decisively.  "  I  know  too  well  the 
danger,  and  shan't  forget  the  warning  which  old  Sanutee 
22 


32  THE    YEMASSEE. 

gave  me.  I've  seen  enough  of  it  to  keep  me  back  ; 
and  though  I  am  willing  to  do  a  great  deal,  oaptain,  for 
you  as  well  as  the  assembly,  without  any  reward,  as  I 
have  often  done  before, — for  you  have  all  done  a  great 
deal  for  me, — yet  it  were  death,  and  a  horrible  death, 
for  me  to  undertake  this.  I  must  not — I  do  not  say  I 
will  not — but  in  truth  I  cannot — I  dare  not." 

Thus  had  the  dialogue  between  Harrison  and  the 
trader  gone  on  for  some  time,  the  former  urging  and 
the  latter  refusing.  The  wife  of  the  latter  all  the 
while  had  looked  on  and  listened  in  silence,  almost  un- 
noticed by  either,  but  her  countenance  during  the  dis- 
cussion was  full  of  eloquent  speech.  The  colour  ill 
her  cheeks  now  came  and  went,  her  eye  sparkled,  her 
lip  quivered,  and  she  moved  to  and  fro  with  emotion 
scarcely  suppressed,  until  her  husband  came  to  his 
settled  conclusion  not  to  go,  as  above  narrated,  when 
she  boldly  advanced  between  him  and  Harrison,  and 
with  her  eye  settling  scornfully  upon  him,  where  he 
stood,  she  thus  addressed  him : — 

"  Now  out  upon  thee,  Richard,  for  a  mean  spirit. 
Thou  wouldst  win  money  only  when  the  game  is  easy 
and  all  thine  own.  Hast  thou  not  had  the  pay  of  the 
assembly,  time  upon  time,  and  for  little  risk  ?  and  be- 
cause the  risk  is  now  greater,  wilt  thou  hold  back  like 
a  man  having  no  heart  1  I  shame  to  think  of  that  thou 
hast  spoken.  But  the  labour  and  the  risk  thou  fearest 
shall  be  mine.  I  fear  not  the  savages — I  know  their 
arts  and  can  meet  them,  and  so  couldst  thou,  Granger, 
did  thy  own  shadow  not  so  frequently  beset  thee  to 
scare.  Give  me  the  charge  which  thou  hast,  captain 
— and,  Granger,  touch  not  the  pounds.  Thou  wilt 
keep  them,  my  lord,  for  other  service.  I  will  go  with- 
out the  pay." 

"  Thou  shalt  not,  Moll — thou  shalt  not,"  cried  the 
trader,  interposing. 

"  But  I  will,  Richard,  and  thou  knowest  I  will  when 
my  lips  have  said  it.  If  there  be  danger,  I  have  no 
children  to  feel  my  want,  and  it  is  but  my  own  life,  and 
even  its  loss  may  save  many." 


THE    YEMASSEE.  33 

"  Moll — Moll !"  exclaimed  the  trader,  half  entreating, 
half  commanding  in  his  manner,  but  she  heeded  him 
not. 

"  And  now,  my  lord,  the  duty.  What  is  to  be  done  ?" 
Harrison  looked  on  as  she  spoke,  in  wonder  and  admi- 
ration, then  replied,  warmly  seizing  her  hand  as  he 
did  so. 

"  Now,  by  heaven,  woman,  but  thou  hast  a  soul — a 
noble,  strong,  manly  soul,  such  as  would  shame  thou- 
sands of  the  more  presumptuous  sex.  But  thy  husband 
has  said  right  in  this.  Thou  shalt  not  go,  and  thy 
words  have  well  taught  me  that  the  task  should  be 
mine  own." 

"What!  my  lord!"  exclaimed  both  the  trader  and 
his  wife — "  you  wilt  not  trust  your  person  in  their 
hands  ?" 

;'  No — certainly  not.  Not  if  I  can  help  it — but 
whatever  be  the  risk  that  seems  so  great  to  all,  I  should 
not  seek  to  hazard  the  lives  of  others,  where  my  own 
is  as  easily  come  at,  and  where  my  own  is  the  greater 
stake.  So,  Granger,  be  at  rest  for  thyself  and  wife. 
I  put  thyself  first  in  safety,  where  I  know  thou 
wishest  it.  For  thee — thou  art  a  noble  woman,  and 
thy  free  proffer  of  service  is  indeed  good  service 
this  hour  to  me,  since  it  brings  me  to  recollect  my  own 
duty.     The  hundred  pounds  are  thine,  Granger !" 

"  My  lord !" 

"  No  lording,  man — no  more  of  that,  but  hear  me. 
In  a  few  hours  and  with  the  dusk  I  shall  be  off.  See 
that  you  keep  good  watch  when  I  am  gone,  for  the 
Block  House  will  be  the  place  of  retreat  for  our  peo- 
ple in  the  event  of  commotion,  and  will  therefore  most 
likely  be  a  point  of  attack  with  the  enemy.  Several 
have  been  already  warned,  and  will  doubtless  be  here 
by  night.  Be  certain  you  know  whom  you  admit. 
Grimstead  and  Grayson,  with  several  of  the  foresters, 
will  come  with  their  families,  and  with  moderate  cau- 
tion you  can  make  good  defence.  No  more."  Thus 
counselling,  and  directing  some  additional  preparations 
to  the  trader  and  his  wife,  he  called  for  Hector,  who 


34  THE    YEMASSEE. 

a  moment  after  made  his  appearance,  as  if  hurried 
away  from  a  grateful  employ,  with  a  mouth  greased 
from  ear  to  ear,  and  a  huge  mass  of  fat  bacon  still 
clutched  tenaciously  between  his  fingers. 

"  Hector !" 

"  Sa,  mossa." 

"  Hast  fed  Dugdale  to-day  ?" 

"  Jist  done  feed  'em,  mossa." 

"  See  that  you  give  him  nothing  more — and  get  the 
horse  in  readiness.  I  go  up  the  river-trace  by  the 
night." 

"  He  done,  mossa,  as  you  tell  me :"  and  the  black 
retired  to  finish  the  meal,  in  the  enjoyment  of  which 
he  had  been  interrupted.  At  dusk,  under  the  direction 
of  his  master,  who  now  appeared  gallantly  mounted 
upon  his  noble  steed,  Hector  led  Dugdale  behind  him 
to  the  entrance  of  a  little  wood,  where  the  river-trace 
began  upon  which  his  master  was  going.  Alighting 
from  his  horse,  Harrison  played  for  a  few  moments 
with  the  strong  and  favourite  dog,  and  thrusting  his 
hand,  among  other  things,  down  the  now-and-then  ex- 
tended jaws  of  the  animal,  he  seemed  to  practise  a 
sport  to  which  he  was  familiar.  After  this,  he  made 
the  negro  put  Dugdale's  nose  upon  the  indented  track, 
and  then  instructed  him,  in  the  event  of  his  not  return- 
ing by  the  moon-rise,  to  unmuzzle  and  place  him  upon 
the  trace  at  the  point  he  was  leaving.  This  done, 
he  set  off  in  a  rapid  gait,  Dugdale  vainly  struggling  to 
go  after  him. 


THE   YEMASSEE.  35 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  School  that  fierce  passion  down,  ere  it  unman, 
Ere  it  o'erthrow  thee.    Thou  art  on  a  height 
Most  perilous,  and  beneath  thee  spreads  the  sea, 
And  the  storm  gathers." 

Leaving  Bess  Matthews,  as  we  have  seen,  under 
the  influence  of  a  fierce  and  feverish  spirit,  Hugh  Gray- 
son, as  if  seeking  to  escape  the  presence  of  a  pursuing 
and  painful  thought,  plunged  deep  and  deeper  into  the 
forest,  out  of  the  pathway,  though  still  in  the  direction 
of  his  own  home.  His  mind  was  now  a  complete 
chaos,  in  which  vexation  and  disappointment,  not  to 
speak  of  self-reproach,  were  active  principles  of  mis- 
rule. He  felt  deeply  the  shame  following  upon  the  act 
of  espionage  of  which  he  had  been  guilty,  and  though, 
conscious  that  it  was  the  consequence  of  a  momentary 
paroxysm  that  might  well  offer  excuse,  he  was  never- 
theless too  highly  gifted  with  sensibility  not  to  reject 
those  suggestions  of  his  mind  which  at  moments  sought 
to  extenuate  it.  Perhaps,  too,  his  feeling  of  abase- 
ment was  not  a  little  exaggerated  by  the  stern  and 
mortifying  rebuke  which  had  fallen  from  the  lips  of  that 
being  whose  good  opinion  had  been  all  the  world  to 
him.  With  these  feelings  at  work,  his  mood  was  in 
no  sort  enviable  ;  and  when  at  nightfall  he  reached  the 
dwelling  of  his  mother,  it  was  in  a  condition  of  mind 
which  drove  him,  a  reckless  savage,  into  a  corner  of  the 
apartment  opposite  that  in  which  sat  the  old  dame 
croning  over  the  pages  of  the  sacred  volume.  She 
looked  up  at  intervals  and  cursorily  surveyed,  in  brief 
glances,  the  features  of  her  son,  whose  active  mind 
and  feverish  ambition,  warring  as  they  ever  did  against 
that  condition  of  life  imposed  upon  him  by  the  neces- 
sities of  his  birth  and  habitation,  had  ever  been  an 
object  of  great  solicitude  to  his  surviving  parent.  He 
22* 


36  THE    VEMASSEEj 

had  been  her  pet  in  his  childhood — her  pride  as  he 
grew  older,  and  began  to  exhibit  the  energies  and 
graces  of  a  strongly-marked  and  highly  original,  though 
unschooled  intellect.  Not  without  ambition  and  an 
appreciation  of  public  honours,  the  old  woman  could 
not  but  regard  her  son  as  promising  to  give  elevation 
to  the  name  of  his  then  unknown,  family  ;  a  hope  not 
entirely  extravagant  in  a  part  of  the  world  in  which  the 
necessities  of  life  were  such  as  to  compel  a  sense  of 
equality  in  all ;  and,  indeed,  if  making  an  inequality 
anywhere,  making  it  in  favour  rather  of  the  bold  and 
vigorous  plebeian,  than  of  the  delicately-nurtured  and 
usually  unenterprising  scion  of  aristocracy.  Closing 
the  book  at  length,  the  old  lady  turned  to  her  son,  and 
without  remarking  upon  the  peculiar  unseemliness,  not 
to  say  wildness,  of  his  appearance,  she  thus  addressed 
him : — 

"  Where  hast  thou  been,  Hughey,  boy,  since  noon  ? 
Thy  brother  and  thyself  both  from  home — I  have  felt 
lonesome,  and  really  began  to  look  for  the  Indians  that 
the  young  captain  warned  us  of.'' 

"  Still  the  captain — nothing  but  the  captain.  Go 
where  I  may,  he  is  in  my  sight,  and  his  name  within 
my  ears.  I  am  for  ever  haunted  by  his  presence. 
His  shadow  is  on  the  wall,  and  before  me,  whichever 
way  I  turn." 

"  And  does  it  offend  thee,  Hughey,  and  wherefore  1 
He  is  a  goodly  gentleman,  and  a  gracious,  and  is  so 
considerate.  He  smoothed  my  cushion  when  he  saw 
A  awry,  and  so  well,  I  had  thought  him  accustomed  to 
it  all  his  life.     I  see  no  harm  in  him." 

"  I  doubt  not,  mother.  He  certainly  knows  well 
how  to  cheat  old  folks  not  less  than  young  ones  into 
confidence.  That  smoothing  of  thy  cushion  makes 
him  in  thy  eyes  for  ever." 

"  And  so  it  should,  my  son,  for  it  shows  considera- 
tion. What  could  he  hope  to  get  from  an  old  woman 
like  me,  and  wherefore  should  he  think  to  find  means 
to  pleasure  me,  but  that  he  is  well-bred,  and  a  gentle- 
man ?" 


THE    YEMASSEE.  37 

M  Ay,  that  is  the  word,  mother — he  is  a  gentleman — 
who  knows,  a  lord  in  disguise — and  is  therefore 
superior  to  the  poor  peasant  who  is  forced  to  dig  his 
roots  for  life  in  the  unproductive  sands.  Wherefore 
should  his  hands  be  unblistered,  and  mine  a  sore  ? 
Wherefore  should  he  come,  and  with  a  smile  and  silly 
speech  win  his  way  into  people's  hearts,  when  I,  with 
a  toiling  affection  of  years,  and  a  love  that  almost 
grows  into  a  worship  of  its  object,  may  not  gather  a 
single  regard  from  any  ?  Has  nature  given  me  life  for 
this  ?  Have  I  had  a  thought  given  me,  bidding  me 
ascend  the  eminence  and  look  down  upon  the  multitude, 
only  for  denial  and  torture  ?  Wherefore  is  this  cruelty, 
this  injustice  1  Can  you  answer,  mother— does  the 
Bible  tell  you  any  thing  on  this  subject  ?" 

"  Be  not  irreverent,  my  son,  but  take  the  sacred 
volume  more  frequently  into  your  own  hands  if  you 
desire  an  answer  to  your  question.  Why,  Hughey,  are 
you  so  perverse  ?  making  yourself  and  all  unhappy 
about  you,  and  still  fevering  with  every  thing  you  see." 

"  That  is  the  question,  mother,  that  I  asked  you 
but  now.  Why  is  it  ?  Why  am  I  not  like  my  brother, 
who  looks  upon  this  Harrison  as  if  he  were  a  god, 
and  will  do  his  bidding,  and  fetch  and  carry  for  him 
like  a  spaniel?  I  am  not  so — yet  thou  hast  taught  us 
both — we  have  known  no  other  teaching.  Why  does 
he  love  the  laughter  of  the  crowd,  content  to  send  up 
like  sounds  with  the  many,  when  I  prefer  the  solitude, 
or  if  I  go  forth  with  the  rest,  go  forth  only  to  dissent 
and  to  deny,  and  to  tutor  my  voice  into  a  sound  that 
shall  be  unlike  any  of  theirs  1     Why  is  all  this  V 

"  Nay,  I  know  not,  yet  so  it  is,  Hughey.  Thou  wert 
of  this  nature  from  thy  cradle,  and  wouldst  reject  the 
toy  which  looked  like  that  of  thy  brother,  and  quarrel 
with  the  sport  which  he  had  chosen." 

"  Yet  thou  wouldst  have  me  like  him — but  I  would 
rather  perish  with  my  own  thoughts  in  the  gloomiest 
dens  of  the  forest,  where  the  sun  comes  not;  and 
better,  far  better  that  it  were  so — far  better,"  he  ex- 
claimed, moodily. 


38  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  What  say'st  thou,  Hughey — why  this  new  sort  of 
language  ?  what  has  troubled  thee  V  inquired  the  old 
woman,  affectionately. 

"  Mother,  I  am  a  slave — a  dog — an  accursed  thing, 
and  in  the  worst  of  bondage— I  am  nothing." 

"  How  !— " 

"  I  would  be,  and  I  am  not.  They  keep  me  down — 
they  refuse  to  hear— they  do  not  heed  me,  and  with  a 
thought  of  command  and  a  will  of  power  in  me,  they  yet 
pass  me  by,  and  I  must  give  way  to  a  bright  wand  and  a 
gilded  chain.  Even  here  in  these  woods,  with  a  poor 
neighbourhood,  and  surrounded  by  those  who  are  un- 
honoured  and  unknown  in  society,  they — the  slaves 
that  they  are  ! — they  seek  for  artificial  forms,  and 
bind  themselves  with  constraints  that  can  only  have  a 
sanction  in  the  degradation  of  the  many.  They  yield 
up  the  noble  and  true  attributes  of  a  generous  nature, 
and  make  themselves  subservient  to  a  name  and  a 
mark — thus  it  is  that  fathers  enslave  their  children ; 
and  but  for  this,  our  lords  proprietors,  whom  God  in 
his  mercy  take  to  himself,  have  dared  to  say,  even  in 
this  wild  land  not  yet  their  own,  to  the  people  who 
have  battled  its  dangers — ye  shall  worship  after  our 
fashion,  or  your  voices  are  unheard.  Who  is  the 
tyrant  in  this  ? — not  the  ruler — not  the  ruler — but  those 
base  spirits  who  let  him  rule, — those  weak  and  unwor- 
thy, who,  taking  care  to  show  their  weaknesses,  have 
invited  the  oppression  which  otherwise  could  have  no 
head.  I  would  my  thoughts  were  theirs — or,  and  per- 
haps it  were  better — I  would  their  thoughts  were 
mine." 

"  God's  will  be  done,  my  son — but  I  would  thou 
hadst  this  content  of  disposition — without  which  there 
is  no  happiness." 

"  Content,  mother — how  idle  is  that  thought.  Life 
itself  is  discontent — hope,  which  is  one  of  our  chief 
sources  of  enjoyment,  is  discontent,  since  it  seeks  that 
which  it  has  not.  Content  is  a  sluggard,  and  should  be 
a  slave — a  thing  to  eat  and  sleep,  and  perhaps  to  dream 
of  eating  and  sleeping,  but  not  a  thing  to  live.     Dis- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  39 

content  is  the  life  of  enterprise,  of  achievement,  of 
glory — ay,  even  of  affection.  I  know  the  preachers 
say  not  this,  and  the  cant  of  the  books  tells  a  differ- 
ent story  ;  but  I  have  thought  of  it,  mother,  and  I  know  ! 
Without  discontent — a  serious  and  unsleeping  discon- 
tent— life  would  be  a  stagnant  stream  as  untroubled  as 
the  back  water  of  the  swamps  of  Edistoh,  and  as  full 
of  the  vilest  reptiles." 

"  Thou  art  for  ever  thinking  strange  things,  Hugh, 
and  different  from  all  other  people,  and  somehow  I  can 
never  sleep  after  I  have  been  talking  with  thee." 

"  Because  I  have  thought  for  myself,  mother — in  the 
woods,  by  the  waters — and  have  not  had  my  mind 
compressed  into  the  old  time-mould  with  which  the 
pedant  shapes  the  sculls  of  the  imitative  apes  that 
courtesy  considers  human.  My  own  mind  is  my 
teacher,  and  perhaps  my  tyrant.  It  is  some  satisfac- 
tion that  I  have  no  other.  It  is  some  satisfaction  that 
I  may  still  refuse  to  look  out  for  idols  such  as  Walter 
loves  to  seek  and  worship — demeaning  a  name  and 
family  which  he  thus  can  never  honour." 

"  What  reproach  is  this,  Hughey  ?  Wherefore  art 
thou  thus  often  speaking  unkindly  of  thy  brother  ? 
Thou  dost  wrong  him." 

"  He  wrongs  me,  mother,  and  the  name  of  my  father, 
when  he  thus  for  ever  cringes  to  this  captain  of  yours — 
this  Harrison — whose  name  and  image  mingle  in  with 
his  every  thought,  and  whom  he  thrusts  into  my  senses 
at  every  word  which  he  utters." 

"  Let  not  thy  dislike  to  Harrison  make  thee  distrust- 
ful of  thy  brother.  Beware,  Hughey — beware,  my  son, 
thou  dost  not  teach  thyself  to  hate  where  nature  would 
have  thee  love !" 

"  Would  I  could — how  much  more  happiness  were 
mine  !  Could  I  hate  where  now  I  love — could  I  ex- 
change affections,  devotion,  a  passionate  worship,  for 
scorn,  for  hate,  for  indifference, — any  thing  so  it  be 
change !"  and  the  youth  groaned  at  the  conclusion  of 
the  sentence,  while  he  thrust  his  face  buried  in  his 
hands  against  the  wall. 


<$0  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  Thou  prayest  for  a  bad  spirit,  Hugh  ;  and  a  temper 
of  sin — hear  now,  what  the  good  book  says,  just  where 
I  have  been  reading ;"  and  she  was  about  to  read,  but 
he  hurriedly  approached  and  interrupted  her — 

"  Does  it  say  why  I  should  have  senses,  feelings, 
faculties  of  mind,  moral,  person,  to  be  denied  their 
aim,  their  exercise,  their  utterance  1  Does  it  say  why 
I  should  live,  for  persecution,  for  shame,  for  shackles  ? 
If  it  explain  not  this,  mother, — read  not — I  will  not 
hear — look  I  I  shut  my  ears — I  will  not  hear  even  thy 
voice — I  am  deaf,  and  would  have  thee  dumb  !" 

"  Hugh,"  responded  the  old  woman,  solemnly — 
"  have  I  loved  thee  or  not  ?" 

"  Wherefore  the  question,  mother  V  he  returned, 
with  a  sudden  change  from  passionate  and  tumultuous 
emotion,  to  a  more  gentle  and  humble  expression. 

"  I  would  know  from  thy  own  lips,  that  thou  think- 
est  me  worthy  only  of  thy  unkind  speech,  and  look, 
and  gesture.  If  I  have  not  loved  thee  well,  and  as  my 
son,  thy  sharp  words  are  good,  and  I  deserve  them ; 
and  I  shall  bear  them  without  reproach  or  reply." 

"  Madness,  mother,  dear  mother — hold  me  a  mad- 
man, but  not  forgetful  of  thy  love — thy  too  much  love 
for  one  so  undeserving.  It  is  thy  indulgence  that 
makes  me  thus  presuming.  Hadst  thou  been  less  kind, 
I  feel  that  I  should  have  been  less  daring." 

"  Ah !  Hugh,  thou  art  wrestling  with  evil,  and  thou 
lovest  too  much  its  embrace — but  stay, — thou  art  not 
going  forth  again  to-night  ?" — she  asked,  seeing  him 
about  to  leave  the  apartment. 

"  Yes,  yes — I  must,  I  must  go." 

"  Where,  I  pray — " 

"  To  the  woods — to  the  woods.  I  must  walk — out 
of  sight — in  the  air — I  must  have  fresh  air,  for  I  choke 
strangely." 

"  Siqk,  Hughey, — my  boy — stay,  and  let  me  get  thee 
some  medicine." 

"  No,  no, — not  sick,  dear  mother;  keep  me  not  back 
— fear  not  for  me — I  was  never  better — never  better." 
And  he  supported  her,  with  an  effort  at  moderation, 


THE    YEMASSEE.  41 

back  to  her  chair.  She  was  forced  to  be  satisfied  with 
the  assurance,  which,  however,  could  not  quiet. 

"  Tho-u  wilt  come  back  soon,  Hughey,  for  I  am  all 
alone,  aad  Walter  is  with  the  captain." 

"  The  captain  !— ay,  ay,  soon  enough,  soon  enough," 
and  as  he  spoke  he  was  about  to  pass  from  the  door  of 
the  apartment,  when  the  ill-suppressed  sigh  which  she 
uttered  as  she  contemplated  in  him  the  workings  of  a 
passion  too  strong  for  her  present  power  to  suppress, 
arrested  his  steps.  He  turned  quickly,  looked  back 
for  an  instant,  then  rushed  toward  her,  and  kneeling 
down  by  her  side,  pressed  her  hand  to  his  lips,  while 
he  exclaimed — 

"  Bless  me,  mother — bless  your  son — pray  for  him, 
too — pray  that  he  may  not  madden  with  the  wild 
thoughts  and  wilder  hopes  that  keep  him  watchful  and 
sometimes  make  him  wayward." 

"  I  do,  Hughey — I  do,  my  son.  May  God  in  his 
mercy  bless  thee,  as  I  do  now !" 

He  pressed  her  hand  once  more  to  his  lips  and 
passed  from  the  apartment. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  What  have  I  done  to  thee,  that  thou  shouldst  lift 
Thy  hand  against  me  1    Wherefore  wouldst  thou  strike 
The  heart  that  never  wrong'd  thee  ?" 

"  'Tis  a  lie, 
Thou  art  mine  enemy,  that  evermore 
Keep'st  me  awake  o'  nights.    I  cannot  sleep, 
While  thou  art  in  my  thought." 

Flying  from  the  house,  as  if  by  so  doing  he  might 
lose  the  thoughts  that  had  roused  him  there  into  a 
paroxysm  of  that  fierce  passion  which  too  much  in- 
dulgence had  made  habitual,  he  rambled,  only  half  con- 
scious of  his  direction,  from  cluster  to  cluster  of  the 
old  trees,  until  the  seductive  breeze  of  the  evening, 


42  THE    YEMASSEE. 

coming  up  from  the  river,  led  him  down  into  that 
quarter.  The  stream  lay  before  him  in  the  shadow  ot 
night,  reflecting  clearly  the  multitude  of  starry  eyes 
looking  down  from  the  heavens  upon  it,  and  with  but  a 
slight  ripple,  under  the  influence  of  the  evening  breeze, 
crisping  its  otherwise  settled  bosom.  How  different 
from  his — that  wanderer  !  The  disappointed  love — the 
vexed  ambition — the  feverish  thirst  for  the  unknown, 
perhaps  for  the  forbidden,  increasing  his  agony  at  every 
stride  which  he  took  along  those  quiet  waters.  It  was 
here  in  secret  places,  that  his  passion  poured  itself 
forth — with  the  crowd  it  was  all  kept  down  by  the 
stronger  pride,  which  shrunk  from  the  thought  of 
making  its  feelings  public  property.  With  them  he  was 
simply  cold  and  forbidding,  or  perhaps  recklessly  and 
inordinately  gay.  This  was  his  policy.  He  well 
knew  how  great  is  the  delight  of  the  vulgar  mind 
when  it  can  search  and  tent  the  wound  which  it  dis- 
covers you  to  possess.  How  it  delights  to  see  the 
victim  writhe  under  its  infliction,  and,  with  how  much 
pleasure  its  ears  drink  in  the  groans  of  suffering,  par- 
ticularly the  suffering  of  the  heart.  He  knew  that  men 
are  never  so  well  content,  once  apprized  of  the  sore, 
as  when  they  are  probing  it ;  unheeding  the  wincings, 
or  enjoying  them  with  the  same  sort  of  satisfaction 
with  which  the  boy  tortures  the  kitten — and  he  deter- 
mined, in  his  case  at  least,  to  deprive  them  of  that 
gratification.  He  had  already  learned  how  much  we 
are  the  sport  of  the  many,  when  we  become  the 
victims  of  the  few. 

The  picture  of  the  night  around  him  was  not  for 
such  a  mood.  There  is  a  condition  of  mind  necessary 
for  the  due  appreciation  of  each  object  and  enjoyment, 
and  harmony  is  the  life-principle,  as  well  of  man  as 
of  nature.  That  quiet  stream,  with  its  sweet  and 
sleepless  murmur — those  watchful  eyes,  clustering  in 
capricious  and  beautiful  groups  above,  and  peering 
down,  attended  by  a  thousand  frail  glories,  into  the 
mirrored  waters  beneath — those  bending  trees,  whose 
matted  arms  and  branches,  fringing  in  the  river,  made 


THE    VEMASSEE.  43 

it  a  hallowed  home  for  the  dreaming  solitary — they 
chimed  not  in  with  that  spirit,  which,  now  ruffled  by 
crossing  currents,  felt  not,  saw  not,  desired  not  their 
influences.  At  another  time,  in  another  mood,  he  had 
worshipped  them  ;  now,  their  very  repose  and  softness, 
by  offering  no  interruption  to  the  train  of  his  own  wild 
musings,  rather  contributed  to  their  headstrong  growth. 
The  sudden  tempest  had  done  the  work — the  storm 
precedes  a  degree  of  quiet  which  in  ordinary  nature 
is  unknown. 

"  Peace,  peace — give  me  peace  !"  he  cried,  to  the 
elements.  The  small  echo  from  the  opposite  bank,  cried 
back  to  him,  in  a  tone  of  soothing,  "  peace" — but  he 
waited  not  for  its  answer.  "Wherefore  do  I  ask?"  he 
murmured  to  himself,  "  and  what  is  it  that  I  ask  ? 
Peace,  indeed!  Repose,  rather — release,  escape — a  free 
release  from  the  accursed  agony  of  this  still  pursuing 
thought.  Is  life  peace,  even  with  love  attained,  with 
conquest,  with  a  high  hope  realized — with  an  ambition 
secure  in  all  men's  adoration  !  Peace,  indeed  !  Thou 
liest,  thou  life !  thou  art  an  imbodied  lie, — wherefore 
dost  thou  talk  to  me  of  peace  ?  Ye  elements,  that  mur- 
mur on  in  falsehood, — stars  and  suns,  streams,  and  ye 
gnarled  monitors — ye  are  all  false.  Ye  would  sooth, 
and  ye  excite,  lure,  encourage,  tempt,  and  deny. 
The  peace  of  life  is  insensibility — the  suicide  of  mind 
or  affection.  Is  that  a  worse  crime  than  the  murder 
of  the  animal  ?  Impossible.  I  may  not  rob  the  heart  of 
its  passion — the  mind  of  its  immortality ;  and  the  death 
of  matter  is  absurd.  Ha  !  there  is  but  one  to  care — but 
one, — and  she  is  old.  A  year — a  month — and  the  loss 
is  a  loss  no  longer.  There  is  too  much  light  here  for 
that.  Why  need  these  stars  see — why  should  any  see, 
or  hear,  Or  know  1  When  I  am  silent  they  will  shine 
■ — and  the  waters  rove  on,  and  she — she  will  be  not 

less  happy  that  I  come  not  between  her  and .     A. 

dark  spot — gloomy  and  still,  where  the  groan  will 
have  no  echo,  and  no  eye  may  trace  the  blood  which 
streams  from  a  heart  that  has  only  too  much  within  it." 

Thus  soliloquizing,  in  the  aberration  of  intellect, 
23 


44  THE    YEMASSEE. 

which  was  too  apt  to  follow  a  state  of  high  excitement 
in  the  individual  before  u§,  he  plunged  into  a  small, 
dark  cavity  of  wood,  lying  hot  far  from  the  river  road, 
but  well   concealed,  as   it  was  partly  under  the  con- 
tiguous swamp.     Here,  burying  the  handle  of  his  bared 
knife   in   the   thick  ooze  of  the  soil  upon  which  he 
stood,  the  sharp  point  upward,    and  so  placed  that  it 
must  have  penetrated,  he  knelt  down  at  a  brief  space 
from  it,  and,  with  a  last  thought  upon  the  mother  whom 
he  could  not  then  forbear  to  think  upon,  he  strove  to 
pray.     But   he  could  not — the   words    stuck    in   his 
throat,  and  he  gave  it  up  in  despair.     He  turned  to  the 
fatal  weapon,  and  throwing  open  his  vest,  so  as  to  free 
the   passage  to  his  heart  of  all  obstructions,  with  a 
swimming  and  indirect  emotionof  the  brain,  he  prepared 
to  cast  himself,  from  the  spot  where  he  knelt,  upon  its 
unvarying  edge,  but  at  that  moment  came  the  quick 
tread  of  a  horse's  hoof  to  his   ear;  and  with  all  that 
caprice  which  must  belong  to  the  mind    that,    usually 
good,  has  yet  even  for  an  instant  purposed  a  crime  not 
less  foolish  than  foul,  he  rose  at  once  to  his  feet.     The 
unlooked-for  sounds  had  broken  the  spell  of  the  scene 
and  situation ;  and  seizing  the  bared   weapon,  he  ad- 
vanced to  the  edge  of  the  swamp,  where  it  looked  down 
upon   the   road    which   ran  alongside.     The    sounds 
rapidly  increased  in  force ;    and   at   length,   passing 
directly  along  before  him,  his  eye   distinguished  the 
outline  of  a  person  whom  he  knew  at  once  to  be  Har- 
rison.    The  rider  went  by,  but  in  a  moment  after, 
the  sounds  had  ceased.     His  progress  had  been  ar- 
rested, and  with  an  emotion,  strange  and  still  seemingly 
without  purpose,   and  for  which  he   did   not  seek  to 
account,  Grayson  changed   his  position,  and   moved 
along  the  edge  of  the  road  to  where  the  sounds  of  the 
horse  had  terminated.     His  fingers  clutched  the  knife, 
bared  for  a  different  purpose,  with  a  strange  sort  of 
ecstasy.     A  sanguinary  picture  of  triumph  and  of  terror 
rose  up  before  his  eyes  ;  and  the  leaves  and  the  trees, 
to  his  mind,  seemed  of  the  one  hue,  and  dripping  with 
gouts  of  blood.     The  demon  was  full  in  every  thought 


THE    VEMASSEE.  45 

A  long  train  of  circumstances  and  their  concomitants 
crowded  upon  his  mental  vision — circumstances  of 
strife,  concealment,  future  success — deep,  long-looked 
for  enjoyment — and  still,  with  all,  came  the  beautiful 
image  of  Bess  Matthews— 

"  Thus  the  one  passion  subject  makes  of  all, 
And  slaves  of  the  strong  sense—" 

There  was  a  delirious  whirl — a  rich,  confused  assem- 
blage of  the  strange,  the  sweet,  the  wild,  in  his  spirit, 
that  in  his  morbid  condition  was  a  deep  delight ;  and 
without  an  effort  to  bring  order  to  the  adjustment  of 
this  confusion,  as  would  have  been  the  case  with  a 
well-regulated  mind — without  a  purpose,  in  his  own 
view,  he  advanced  cautiously  and  well  concealed  be- 
hind the  trees,  and  approached  toward  the  individual 
whom  he  had  long  since  accustomed  himself  only  to 
regard  as  an  enemy.  Concealment  is  a  leading  in- 
fluence of  crime  with  individuals  not  accustomed  to 
refer  all  their  feelings  and  thoughts  to  the  control 
of  just  principles,  and  the  remoteness  and  the  silence, 
the  secrecy  of  the  scene,  and  the  ease  with  which  the 
crime  could  be  covered  up,  were  among  the  moving 
causes  that  prompted  the  man  to  murder,  who  had  a 
little  before  meditated  suicide. 

Harrison  had  alighted  from  his  horse,  and  was  then 
busied  in  fastening  his  bridle  to  a  swinging  branch  of 
the  tree  under  which  he  stood.  Having  done  this,  and 
carefully  thrown  the  stirrups  across  the  saddle,  he  left 
him,  and  sauntering  back  a  few  paces  to  a  spot  of 
higher  ground,' he  threw  himself,  with  the  composure 
of  an  old  hunter,  at  full  length  upon  the  long  grass, 
which  tufted  prettily  the  spot  he  had  chosen.  This 
done,  he  sounded  merrily  three  several  notes  upon  the 
horn  which  hung  about  his  neck,  and  seemed  then  to 
await  the  coming  of  another. 

The  blast  of  the  horn  gave  quickness  to  the  ap- 
proach of  Hugh  Grayson,  who  had  been  altogether 
unnoticed  by  Harrison ;  and  he  now  stood  in  the 
shadow  of  a  tree,  closely  observing  the  fine,  manly 


46  THE    YEMASSEE, 

outline,  the  graceful  position,  and  the  entire  symmetry 
of  his  rival's  extended  person.  He  saw,  and  his  pas- 
sions grew  more  and  more  tumultuous  with  the  sur- 
vey. His  impulses  became  stronger  as  his  increasing 
thoughts  grew  more  strange.  There  was  a  feeling  of 
strife,  and  a  dream  of  blood  in  his  fancy — he  longed 
for  the  one,  and  his  eye  saw  the  other — a  rich,  attrac- 
tive, abundant  stream,  pouring,  as  it  were,  from  the 
thousand  arteries  of  some  overshadowing  tree.  The 
reasoning  powers  all  grew  silent — the  moral  faculties 
were  distorted  with  the  survey;  and  the  feelings  were 
only  so  many  winged  arrows  goading  him  on  to  evil. 
For  a  time,  the  guardian  conscience — that  high  stand- 
ard of  moral  education,  without  which  we  cease  to  be 
human,  and  are  certainly  unhappy — battled  stoutly ; 
and  taking  the  shape  of  a  thought,  which  told  him  con- 
tinually of  his  mother,  kept  back,  nervously  restless, 
the  hand  which  clutched  the  knife.  But  the  fierce 
passions  grew  triumphant,  with  the  utterance  of  a 
single  name  from  the  lips  of  Harrison, — that  of  Bess, 
— linked  with  the  tenderest  epithets  of  affection. 
With  a  fierce  fury  as  he  heard  it,  Grayson  sprung  forth 
from  the  tree,  and  his  form  went  heavily  down  upon 
the  breast  of  the  prostrate  man. 

"  Ha !  assassin,  what  art  thou  ?"  and  he  struggled 
manfully  with  the  assailant.  "  wherefore — what  wouldst 
thou  ? — speak  !" 

"  Thy  blood — thy  blood !"  was  the  only  answer,  as 
the  knife  was  uplifted. 

"  Horrible  !  but  thou  wilt  fight  for  it,  murderer,"  was 
the  reply  of  Harrison,  while,  struggling  with  prodi- 
gious effort,  though  at  great  disadvantage  from  the 
close-pressed  form  of  Grayson,  whose  knee  was  upon 
his  breast,  he  strove  with  one  hand,  at  the  same  mo- 
ment to  free  his  own  knife  from  its  place  in  his  bosom, 
while  aiming  to  ward  off  with  the  other  the  stroke  of 
his  enemy.  The  whole  affair  had  been  so  sudden,  so 
perfectly  unlooked-for  by  Harrison,  who,  not  yet  in 
the  Indian  country,  had  not  expected  danger,  that  he 
could  not  but  conceive  that  the  assailant  had  mistaken 


THE    YEMASSEE.  4l 

him  for  another.  In  the  moment,  therefore,  he  ap- 
pealed to  him. 

"  Thou  hast  erred,  stranger.  I  am  not  he  thou 
seekest." 

"  Thou  liest,"  was  the  grim  response  of  Grayson. 

"  Ha !  who  art  thou  ?" 

"  Thy  enemy — in  life,  in  death,  through  the  past, 
and  for  the  long  future,  though  it  be  endless, — still 
thine  enemy.  I  hate — I  will  destroy  thee.  Thou 
hast  lain  in  my  path — thou  hast  darkened  my  hope — 
thou  hast  doomed  me  to  eternal  wo.  Shalt  thou  have 
what  thou  hast  denied  me  ?  Shalt  thou  live  to  win 
where  I  have  lost?  No  —  I  have  thee.  There  is  no 
aid  for  thee.  In  another  moment,  and  I  am  revenged. 
Die — die  like  a  dog,  since  thou  hast  doomed  me  to 
live,  and  to  feel  like  one.     Die  !" 

The  uplifted  eyes  of  Harrison  beheld  the  blade 
descending  in  the  strong  grasp  of  his  enemy.  One 
more  effort,  one  last  struggle,  for  the  true  mind  never 
yields.  While  reason  lasts,  hope  lives,  for  the  natural 
ally  of  human  reason  is  hope.  But  he  struggled  in 
vain.  The  hold  taken  by  his  assailant  was  unrelax- 
ing — that  of  iron ;  and  the  thoughts  of  Harrison, 
though  still  he  struggled,  were  strangely  mingling 
with  the  prayer,  and  the  sweet  dream  of  a  passion, 
now  about  to  be  defrauded  of  its  joys  for  ever; — but, 
just  at  the  moment  when  he  had  given  himself  up  as 
utterly  lost,  the  grasp  of  his  foe  was  withdrawn.-  The 
criminal  had  relented— the  guardian  conscience  had 
resumed  her  sway  in  time  for  the  safety  of  both  the 
destroyer  and  his  victim.  And  what  a  revulsion  of 
feeling  and  of  sense  !  How  terrible  is  passion — how 
terrible  in  its  approach — how  more  terrible  in  its  pas- 
sage and  departure  !  The  fierce  madman,  a  moment 
before  ready  to  drink  a  goblet-draught  from  the  heart 
of  his  enemy,  now  trembled  before  him,  like  a  leaf 
half  detached  by  the  frost,  and  yielding  at  the  first 
breathings  of  the  approaching  zephyr.  Staggering 
back  as  if  himself  struck  with  the  sudden  shaft  of 
death,  Grayson  sunk  against  the  tree  from  which  he 
23* 


48  THE    YEMASSEE. 

had  sprung  in  his  first  assault,  and  covered  his  hands 
in  agony.  His  breast  heaved  like  a  wave  of  the  ocean 
when  the  winds  gather  in  their  desperate  frolic  over 
its  always  sleepless  bosom ;  and  his  whole  frame  was 
rocked  to  and  fro,  with  the  moral  convulsions  of  his 
spirit.  Harrison  rose  to  his  feet  the  moment  he  had 
been  released,  and  with  a  curiosity  not  linmingled  with 
caution,  approached  the  unhappy  man. 

"What!  Master  Hugh  Grayson!"  he  exclaimed 
naturally  enough,  as  he  found  out  who  he  was,  "  what 
has  tempted  thee  to  this  madness — wherefore?" 

"  Ask  me  not — ask  me  not — in  mercy,  ask  me  not. 
Thou  art  safe,  thou  art  safe.  I  have  not  thy  blood 
upon  my  hands ;  thank  God  for  that.  It  was  her 
blessing  that  saved  thee — that  saved  me  ;  oh,  mother, 
how  I  thank  thee  for  that  blessing.  It  took  the  mad- 
ness from  my  spirit  in  the  moment  when  I  would  have 
struck  thee,  Harrison,  even  with  as  fell  a  joy  as  the 
Indian  strikes  in  battle.  Go — thou  art  safe.— Leave 
me,  I  pray  thee.  Leave  me  to  my  own  dreadful 
thought — the  thought  which  hates,  and  would  just  now 
have  destroyed  thee." 

"  But  wherefore  that  thought,  Master  Grayson  1 
Thou  art  but  young  to  have  such  thoughts,  and  shouldst 
take  counsel — and  why  such  should  be  thy  thoughts 
of  me,  I  would  know  from  thy  own  lips,  which  have 
already  said  po  much  that  is  strange  and  unwelcome." 

"  Strange,  dost  thou  say,"  exclaimed  the  youth  with 
a  wild  grin,  "  not  strange — not  strange.  But  go — go — 
leave  me,  lest  the  dreadful  passion  come  back.  Thou 
didst  wrong  me — thou  hast  done  me  the  worst  of 
wrongs,  though,  perchance,  thou  knowest  it  not.  But 
it  is  over  how — thou  art  safe.  I  ask  thee  not  to  for- 
give, but  if  thou  wouldst  serve  me,  Master  Harri- 
son— " 

"  Speak  !"  said  the  other,  as  the  youth  paused. 

"  If  thou  wouldst  serve  me, — think  me  thy  foe,  thy 
deadly  foe  ;  one  waiting  and  in  mood  to  slay,  and  so 
thinking,  as  one  bound  to  preserve  himself  at  all  haz- 
ard, use  thy  knife  upon  my  bosom  now,  as  I  would 


THE    YEMASSEE. 


49 


have  used  mine  upon  thee.  Strike,  if  thou  wouldst 
serve  me."  And  he  dashed  his  hand  upon  the  bared 
breast  violently  as  he  spoke. 

"  Thou  art  mad,  Master  Grayson, — to  ask  of  me  to 
do  such  folly.     Hear  me  but  a  while"— 

But  the  other  heard  him  not,— he  muttered  to  himself 
.half  incoherent  words  and  sentences. 

"  First  suicide — miserable  wretch, — and  then,  God 
of  Heaven !  that  I  should  have  been  so  nigh  to  mur- 
der," and  he  sobbed  like  a  child  before  the  man  he  had 
striven  to  slay,  until  pity  had  completely  taken  the 
place  of  every  other  feeling  in  the  bosom  of  Harrison. 
.  At  that  moment  the  waving  of  a  torch-light  appeared 
through  the  woods  at  a  little  distance.  The  criminal 
started  as  if  in  terror,  and  was  about  to  fly  from  the 
spot,  but  Harrison  interposed  and  prevented  him. 

»  Stay,  Master  Grayson— go  not.     The  light  comes 
in  the  hands  of  thy  brother,  who  is  to  put  me   across 
the  river.     Thou  wilt  return  with  him,  and  may  thy 
mood  grow  gentler,  and  thy  thoughts   wiser.     Thou 
hast  been  rash  and  foolish,  but  I  mistake  not  thy  na- 
ture, which  I  hold  meant  for  better  things.— I  regard 
it  not,  therefore,  to  thy  harm  ;  and  to  keep  thee  from 
a  thought  which  will  trouble  thee  more  than  it  can 
harm  me  now,  I  will  crave  of  thee  to  lend  all  thy  aid 
to  assist  thy  mother  from  her  present  habitation,  as 
she  has  agreed,  upon  the  advire  of   thy   brother  and 
myself.     Thou  wast  not  so  minded  this  morning,  so 
thy  brothel  assured  me;  but  thou  wilt  take  my  word 
for  it  that  the  remove  has  grown  essential  to  her  safety. 
Walter  will  tell  thee  all.     In  the  meanwhile,  what  has 
passed  between  us  we  hold  to  ourselves ;  and  if,  as 
thou  hast  said,  thou  hast  had  wrong  at  my  hands,  thou 
shalt  have  right  at  thy  quest,  when  other  duties  will 
allow."  .       ■ 

"  Enough,  enough  !"  cried  the  youth  m  a  low  tone 
impatiently,  as  he  beheld  his  brother,  carrying  a  torch, 
emerge  from  the  cover. 

"  How  now,  Master  Walter— thou  hast  been  slug- 
gard, and  bat  for  thy  younger  brother,  whom  I  find  a 
Vol.  II. 


50  THE    YEMASSEE. 

pleasant  gentleman,  I  should  have  worn  out  good-hu- 
mour in  seeking  for  patience." 

"  What,  Hugh  here !"  Walter  exclaimed,  regarding 
his  brother  with  some  astonishment,  as  he  well  knew 
the  dislike  in  which  he  held  Harrison. 

"Ay,"  said  the  latter,"  and  he  has  grown  more  rea- 
sonable since  morning,  and  is  now, — if  I  so  understand 
him — not  unwilling  to  give  aid  in  thy  mother's  remove. 
But  come — let  us  away — we  have  no  time:  for  the  fire. 
Of  the  horse,  thy  brother  will  take  charge — keep  him 
not  here  for  me,  but  let  him  bear  thy  mother  to  the 
Block  House.  She  will  find  him  gentle.  And  now, 
Master  Grayson — farewell !  I  hope  to  know  thee  bet- 
ter on  my  return,  as  I  desire  thou  shalt  know  me. 
Come." 

Concealed  in  the  umbrage  of  the  depending  shrub- 
bery, a  canoe  lay  at  the  water's  edge,  into  which  Har- 
rison leaped,  followed  by  the  elder  Grayson.  They 
were  soon  off — the  skiff,  like  a  fairy  bark,  gliding 
almost  noiselessly  across  that  Indian  river.  Watching 
their  progress  for  a  while,  Hugh  Grayson  lingered, 
until  the  skiff  became  a  «peck,  then,  with  strangely 
mingled  feelings  of  humiliation  and  satisfaction,  leap- 
ing upon  the  steed  which  had  been  given  him  in 
charge,  he  took  his  way  to  the  dwelling  of  his  mother. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  Be  thy  teeth  firmly  set ;  the  time  is  come 
To  rend  and  trample.     We  are  ready  all, 
All,  but  the  victim." 

At  dark,  Sanutee,  Ishiagaska,  Enoree-Mattee,  the 
prophet,  and  a  few  others  of  the  Yemassee  chiefs  and 
leaders,  having  the  same  decided  hostilities  to  the 
Carolinians,  met  at  the  lodge  of  Ishiagaska,  in  the 
town  of  Pocota-ligo,  and  discussed  their  farther  prep- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  51 

arations  at  some  length.  The  insurrection  was  at 
hand.  All  the  neighbouring  tribes,  without  an  excep- 
tion, had  pledged  themselves  for  the  common  object, 
and  the  greater  number  of  those  extending  over  Geor- 
gia and  Florida,  were  also  bound  in  the  same  dreadful 
contract.  The  enemies  of  the  settlement,  in  this  con- 
spiracy, extended  from  Cape  Fear  to  the  mountains  of 
Apalachy,  and  the  disposable  force  of  the  Yemassees, 
under  this  league,  amounted  to  at  least  six  thousand 
warriors.  These  forces  were  gathering  at  various  points 
according  to  arrangement,  and  large  bodies  from  sundry 
tribes  had  already  made  their  appearance  at  Pocota- 
ligo,  from  which  it  was  settled  the  first  blow  should  be 
given.  Nor  were  the  Indians,  thus  assembling,  bow- 
men merely.  The  Spanish  authorities  of  St.  Augus- 
tine, who  were  at  the  bottom  of  the  conspiracy,  had 
furnished  them  with  a  considerable  supply  of  arms, 
and  the  conjecture  of  Harrison  rightly  saw  in  the 
boxes  transferred  by  Chorley  the  seaman  to  the  Ye- 
massees, those  weapons  of  massacre  which  the  policy 
of  the  Carolinians  had  withheld!  These,  however, 
were  limited  to  the  forest  nobility — the  several  chiefs 
bound  in  the  war ; — -to  the  commons,  a  knife  or  toma- 
hawk was  the  assigned,  and,  perhaps,  the  more  truly 
useful  present.  A  musket,  at  that  period,  in  the  hands 
of  the  unpractised  savage,  was  not  half  so  dangerous 
as  a  bow.  To  these  warriors  we  must  add  the  pi- 
rate Chorley — a  desperado  in  every  sense  of  the  word, 
a  profligate  boy,  a  vicious  and  outlawed  man — daring, 
criminal,  and  only  engaging  in  the  present  adventure 
in  the  hope  of  the  spoil  and  plunder  which  he  hoped 
from  it.  In  the  feeble  condition  of  the  infant  colony 
there  was  no  great  risk  in  his  present  position.  With- 
out vessels  of  war  of  any  sort,  and  only  depending 
upon  the  mother  country  for  such  assistance,  when- 
ever a  French  or  Spanish  invasion  took  place,  while 
British  aid  was  in  the  neighbourhood,  the  province 
was  lamentably  defenceless.  The  visit  of  Chorley,  in 
reference  to  this  weakness,  had  been  admirably  well- 
timed.     He   had   waited  until  the  departure  of  the 


52  THE    VEMASSEE. 

Swallow,  the  English  armed  packet,  which  periodi 
cally  traversed  the  ocean  with  advices  from  the  sove- 
reign to  the  subject.  He  then  made  his  appearance, 
secure  from  that  danger,  and,  indeed,  if  we  may  rely 
upon  the  historians  of  the  period,  almost  secure  from 
any  other ;  for  we  are  told  that  in  their  wild  abodes, 
the  colonists  were  not  always  the  scrupulous  moralists 
which  another  region  had  made  them.  They  did  not 
scruple  at  this  or  that  sort  of  trade,  so  long  as  it  was 
profitable  ;  and  Chorley,  the  pirate,  would  have  had  no 
difficulty,  as  he  well  knew  by  experience,  so  long  as 
he  avoided  any  overt  performance,  forcing  upon  the 
public  sense  a  duty,  which  many  of  the  people  were 
but  too  well  satisfied  when  they  could  avoid.  It  did 
not  matter  to  many  among  those  with  whom  he  pursued 
his  traffic,  whether  or  not  the  article  which  they  pro- 
cured at  so  cheap  a  rate  had  been  bought  with  blood 
and  the  strong  hand.  It  was  enough  that  the  goods 
were  to  be  had  when  wanted,  of  as  fair  quality,  and 
fifty  per  cent,  cheaper  than  those  offered  in  the  legiti- 
mate course  of  trade.  To  sum  up  all  in  little,  our 
European  ancestors  were,  in  many  respects,  monstrous 
great  rascals. 

Chorley  was  present  at  this  interview  with  the  insur- 
rectionary chiefs  of  Yemassee,  and  much  good  counsel 
he  gave  them.  The  meeting  was  preparatory,  and 
here  they  prepared  the  grand  mouyement,  and  settled  the 
disposition  of  the  subordinates.  Here  they  arranged 
all  those  small  matters  of  etiquette  beforehand,  by  which 
to  avoid  little  jealousies  and  disputes  among  their  auxil- 
iaries ;  for  national  pride,  or  rather  the  great  glory  of 
the  clan,  was  as  desperate  a  passion  with  the  southern 
Indians,  as  with  the  yet  more  breechless  Highlanders. 
Nothing  was  neglected  in  this  interview  which,  to  the 
deliberate  mind,  seemed  necessary  to  success ;  and 
they  were  prepared  to  break  up  in  order  to  the  general 
assemblage  of  the  people,  to  whom  the  formal  and  of- 
ficial announcement  was  to  be  given,  when  Ishiagaska 
recalled  them  to  a  matter  which,  to  that  fierce  Indian, 
seemed  much   more   important  than  any.     Chorley 


THE    YEMASSEE.  53 

looked  on  the  animated  glance — ^the  savage  grin,-r- and 
though  he  knew  not  the  signification  of  the  words,  he 
yet  needed  no  interpreter  to  convey  to  him  the  purport 
of  his  speech. 

"  The  dog  must  smell  the  blood,  or  he  tears  not  the 
throat.  Ha  !  shall  not  the  War-Manneyto  have  a 
feast  ?" 

Sanutee  looked  disquieted  but  said  nothing,  while 
the  eye  of  Ishiagaska  followed  his  glance  and  seemed 
to  search  him  narrowly.  He  spoke  again,  approaching 
the  "  well-beloved  :" 

, "  The  Yemassee  hath  gone  on  the  track  of  the  Swift 
Foot,  and  the  English  has  run  beside  him.  They  have 
taken  a  name  from  the  pale-face  and  called  him  brother. 
Brother  is  a  strong  word  for  Yemassee,  and  he  must 
taste  of  his  blood)  or  he  will  not  hunt  after  the  English. 
The  War-Manneyto  would  feast  upon  the  heart  of  a 
pale-face,  to  make  strong  the  young  braves  of  Ye- 
massee." 

?f  It  is  good— let  the  War-Manneyto  have  the  feast 
upon  the  heart  of  the  English  !"  exclaimed  the  prophet, 
and  such  seeming  the  general  expression,  Sanutee 
yielded,  though  reluctantly.  They  left  the  lodge,  and 
in  an  hour  a  small  party  of  young  warriors,  to  whom, 
in  his  wild,  prophetic  manner  Enoree-Mattee  had  re- 
vealed the  requisitions  of  the  God  he  served,  went  forth 
to  secure  an  English  victim  for  the  dreadful  propitia- 
tory sacrifice  they  proposed  to  offer,  in  the  hope  of 
success,  to  the  Indian  Moloch. , 

This  done,  the  chiefs  distributed  themselves  among 
the  several  bands  of  the  people  and  their  allies,  stimu- 
lating by  their  arguments  and  eloquence,  the  fierce 
spirit  which  they  now  laboured  to  evoke  in  storm  and 
tempest.     We  leave  them  to  return  to  Harrison. 

The  adventure  he  was  now  engaged  in  was  suf- 
ficiently perilous.  He  knew  the  danger,  and  also  felt 
that  there  were  particular  responsibilities  in  his  case 
which  increased  it  greatly.  With  this  consciousness 
came  a  proportionate  degree  of  caution.  He  was 
shrewd  to  a  proverb  among  those  who  knew  him — 


54  THE    YEMASSEE. 

practised  considerably  in  Indian  manoeuvre — had  been 
with  them  in  frequent  conflict,  and  could  anticipate 
their  arts — was  resolute  as  well  as  daring,  and  with 
much  of  their  circumspection,  at  the  same  time,  had 
learned  skilfully  to  imitate  the  thousand  devices  of 
stratagem  and  concealment  which  make  the  glory  of 
the  Indian  brave.  Having  given  as  fair  a  warning  as 
was  in  his  power  to  those  of  his  countrymen  most  im- 
mediately exposed  to  the  danger,  he  was  less  reluctant 
to  undertake  the  adventure.  But  had  he  been  con- 
scious of  the  near  approach  of  the  time  fixed  on  by  the 
enemy  for  the  explosion — could  he  have  dreamed  that 
it  was  so  extensive  and  so  near  at  hand,  his  attitude 
would  have  been  very  different  indeed.  But  this  was 
the  very  knowledge  for  the  attainment  of  which  he  had 
taken  his  present  journey.  The  information  sought 
was  important  in  determining  upon  the  degree  of  effort 
necessary  to  the  defence. 

It  was  still  early  evening,  when  the  canoe  of  Gray- 
son, making  into  a  little  cove  about  a  mile  and  a  half 
below  Pocota-ligo,  enabled  Harrison  to  land.  With  a 
last  warning  to  remove  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  to 
urge  as  many  more  as  he  could  to  the  shelter  of  the 
Block  House,  he  left  his  companion  "to  return  to  the 
settlement ;  then  plunging  into  the  woods,  and  carefully 
making  a  sweep  out  of  his  direct  course,  in  order  to 
come  in  upon  the  back  of  the  Indian  town,  so  as  to 
avoid  as  much  as  practicable  the  frequented  paths,  he 
went  fearlessly  upon  his  way.  For  some  time,  pro- 
ceeding with  slow  and  heedful  step,  he  went  on  without 
interruption,  yet  not  without  a  close  scrutiny  into  every 
thing  he  saw.  One  thing  struck  him,  however,  and 
induced  unpleasant  reflection.  He  saw  that  many  of 
the  dwellings  which  he  approached  were  without  fires, 
and  seemed  deserted.  The  inhabitants  were  gone — he 
met  with  none  ;  and  he  felt  assured  that  a  popular  gath- 
ering was  at  hand  or  in  progress.  For  two  miles  of 
his  circuit  he  met  with  no  sign  of  human  beings  ;  and 
he  had  almost  come  to  the  conclusion  that  Pocota-ligo, 
which  was  only  a  mile  or  so  farther,  would  be  equally 


THE    YEMASSEE.  >  55 

barren,  when  suddenly  a  torch  flamed  across  his  path, 
and  with  an  Indian  instinct  he  sunk  back  into  the 
shadow  of  a  tree,  and  scanned  curiously  the  scene  be- 
fore him.  The  torch  grew  into  a  blaze  in  a  hollow  of 
the  wood,  and  around  the  fire  he  beheld,  in  various  posi- 
tions, some  fifteen  or  twenty  warriors,  making  a  small 
war  encampment.  Some  lay  at  length,  some  "  squat, 
like  a  toad,"  and  all  gathered  around  the  friendly  blaze 
which  had  just  been  kindled  in  time  to  prevent  him 
from  running  headlong  into  the  midst  of  them.  From 
the  shadow  of  the  tree,  which  perfectly  concealed  him, 
he  could  see,  by  the  light  around  which  they  clustered, 
not  only  the  forms  but  the  features  of  the  warriors ; 
and  he  soon  made  them  out  to  be  the  remnant  of  his 
old  acquaintance,  the  Coosaws — who,  after  the  dreadful 
defeat  which  they  sustained  at  his  hands  in  the  forks 
of  Tulifinnee,  found  refuge  with  the  Yemassees,  settled 
the  village  of  Coosaw-hatchie,  and  being  too  small  in 
number  to  call  for  the  farther  hostility  of  the  Carolini- 
ans, were  suffered  to  remain  in  quiet.  But  they  har- 
boured a  bitter  malice  toward  their  conquerors,  and  the 
call  to  the  field  against  their  ancient  enemies  was  the 
sweetest  boon  that  could  be  proffered  to  their  hearts. 
With  a  curious  memory  which  recalled  vividly  his  past 
adventure  with  the  same  people,  he  surveyed  their 
diminutive  persons,  their  small,  quick,  sparkling  eyes, 
the  dusky,  but  irritably  red  features,  and  the  querulous 
upward  turn  of  the  nose — a  most  distinguishing  feature 
with  this  clan,  showing  a  feverish  quarrelsomeness  of 
disposition,  and  a  want  of  becoming  elevation  in  pur- 
pose. Harrison  knew  them  well,  and  his  intimacy  had 
cost  them  dearly.  It  was  probable,  indeed,  that  the 
fifteen  or  twenty  warriors  then  grouped  before  him 
were  all  that  they  could  send  into  the  field — all  that 
had  survived,  women  and  children  excepted,  the  severe 
chastisement- which  had  annihilated  them  as  a  nation. 
But  what  they  lacked  in  number  they  made  up  in 
valour — a  fierce,  sanguinary  people,  whose  habits  of 
restlessness  and  love  of  strife  were  a  proverb  even 
among  their  savage  neighbours,  who  spoke  of  a  ma- 
24 


66  THE    YEMASSEB. 

lignant  man — one  more  so  than  usual, — as  having  a 
Coosaw's  tooth.  But  a  single  warrior  of  this  party  was 
in  possession  of  a  musket,  a  huge,  cumbrous  weapon, 
of  which  he  seemed  not  a  little  proud.  He  was  prob- 
ably a  chief.  The  rest  were  armed  with  bow  and 
arrow,  knife,  and,  here  and  there,  a  hatchet.  The  huge 
club  stuck  up  conspicuously  among  them,  besmeared 
with  coarse  paint,  and  surmounted  with  a  human  scalp, 
instructed  Harrison  sufficiently  as  to  the  purpose  of 
the  party.  The  war-club  carried  from  hand  to  hand, 
and  in  this  way  transmitted  from  tribe  to  tribe,  from 
nation  to  nation,  by  their  swiftest  runners,  was  a  mode 
of  organization  not  unlike  that  employed  by  the  Scotch, 
for  a  like  object,  and  of  which  the  muse  of  Scott  has 
so  eloquently  sung.  The  spy  was  satisfied  with  the 
few  glances  which  he  had  given  to  this  little  party ; 
and  as  he  could  gather  nothing  distinctly  from  their 
language,  which  he  heard  imperfectly,  and  as  imper- 
fectly understood,  he  cautiously  left  his  place  of  con- 
cealment, and  once  more  darted  forward  on  his  journey. 
Digressing  from  his  path  as  circumstances  or  prudence 
required,  he  pursued  his  course  in  a  direct  line  towards 
Pocota-ligo  ;  but  had  not  well  lost  sight  of  the  fire  of 
the  Coosaws,  when  another  blaze  appeared  in  the  track 
just  before  him.  Pursuing  a  like  caution  with  that 
already  given,  he  approached  sufficiently  nigh  to  dis- 
tinguish a  band  of  Sewees,  something  more  numerous 
than  the  Coosaws,  but  still  not  strong,  encamping  in 
like  manner  around  the  painted  club,  the  common  en- 
sign of  approaching  battle.  He  knew  them  by  the 
number  of  shells  which  covered  their  garments,  were 
twined  in  their  hair,  and  formed  a  peculiar  and  favourite 
ornament  to  their  persons,  while  at  the  same  time, 
declaring  their  location.  They  occupied  one  of  the 
islands  which  still  bear  their  name — the  only  relics 
of  a  nation  which  had  its  god  and  its  gjpries,  and  be- 
lieving in  the  Manneyto  and  a  happy  valley,  can  have 
no  complaint  that  their  old  dwellings  shall  know  them  no 
more.  The  Sewees  resembled  the  Coosaws  in  their 
general  expression  of  face,  but  in  person  they  were 


YEMASSEE. 


57 


taller  and  more  symmetrical,  though  slender.     They 
did  not  exceed  thirty  in  number. 

The  precautions  of  Harrison  were  necessarily  in- 
creased, as  he  found  himself  in  such  a  dangerous 
neighbourhood,  but  still  he  felt  nothing  of  apprehen- 
sion. He  was  one  of  those  men,  singularly  constituted, 
in  whom  hope  becomes  a  strong  exciting  principle, 
perpetually  stimulating  confidence  and  encouraging  ad- 
venture into  a  forgetfulness  of  risk  and  general  dis- 
regard to  difficulty  and  opposition.  On  he  went,  until 
at  the  very  entrance  to  the  village  he  came  upon  an 
encampment  of  the  Santees,  a  troop  of  about  fifty 
warriors.  These  he  knew  by  their  greater  size  and 
muscle,  being  generally  six  feet  or  more  in  height,  of 
broad  shoulders,  full,  robust  front,  and  forming  not  less 
in  their  countenances,  which  were  clear,  open  and  intel- 
ligent, than  in  their  persons,  a  singular  and  marked  con- 
trast to  the  Sewees  and  Coosaws.  They  carried,  along 
with  the  bow,  another — and  in  their  hands  a  more  for- 
midable weapon — a  huge  mace,  four  or  five  feet  in 
length,  of  the  heaviest  wood,  swelling  into  a  huge 
lump  at  the  remote  extremity,  and  hanging  by  a  thong 
of  skin  or  sinews  around  their  necks.  A  glance  was 
enough  to  show  their  probable  number,  and  desiring  no 
more,  Harrison  sunk  away  from  farther  survey,  and 
carefully  avoiding  the  town,  on  the  skirts  of  which  he 
stood,  he  followed  in  the  direction  to  which  he  was 
led  by  a  loud  uproar  and  confused  clamour  coming  from 
it.  This  was  the  place  of  general  encampment,  a  little 
above  the  village,  immediately  upon  the  edge  of  the 
swamp  from  which  the  river  wells,  being  the  sacred 
ground  of  Yemassee,  consecrated  to  their  several 
Manneytos  of  war,  peace,  punishment,  and  general 
power — which  contained  the  great  tumulus  of  Pocota- 
ligo,  consecrated  by  a  thousand  awful  sacrifices,  for  a 
thousand  years  preceding,  and  already  known  to  us  as 
the  spot  where  Occonestoga,  saved  from  perdition,  met 
his  death  from  the  hands  of  his  mother. 


58  THE   YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER  Vni. 

"  Battle-god  Manneyto — 
Here's  a  scalp,  'tis  a  scull, 
This  is  blood,  'tis  a  heart, 
Scalp,  scull,  blood,  heart, 

'Tis  for  thee,  Manneyto — 'tis  for  thee,  Manneyto — 
They  shall  make  a  feast  for  thee, 
Battle-god  Manneyto." 

Yemassee  War-Hymn. 

The  preparatory  rites  of  battle  were  about  to  take 
place  around  the  tumulus.  The  warriors  were  about 
to  propitiate  the  Yemassee  God  of  War — the  Battle- 
Manneyto — and  the  scene  was  now,  if  possible,  more 
imposing  than  ever.  It  was  with  a  due  solemnity  that 
they  approached  the  awful  rites  with  which  they  in- 
voked this  stern  principle — doubly  solemn,  as  they 
could  not  but  feel  that  the  'existence  of  their  nation 
was  the  stake  at  issue.  They  were  prostrate — the 
thousand  warriors  of  Yemassee — their  wives,  their 
children — their  faces  to  the  ground,  but  their  eyes  up- 
ward, bent  upon  the  cone  of  the  tumulus,  where 
^Jfaint  flame,  dimly  flickering  under  the  breath  of  the 
capricious  winds,  was  struggling  doubtfully  into  exist- 
ence. Enoree-Mattee  the  prophet  stood  in  anxious 
attendance — the  only  person  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
the  fire — for  the  spot  upon  which  he  stood  was  holy. 
He  moved  around  it,  in  attitudes  now  lofty,  now  gro- 
tesque— now  impassioned  and  now  humbled — feeding 
the  flame  at  intervals  as  he  did  so  with  fragments  of 
wood,  which  had  been  consecrated  by  other  rites,  and 
sprinkling  it  at  the  same  time  with  the  dw«er>  leaves  of 
the  native  and  finely  odorous  vanella,  which  diffused 
a  grateful  perfume  upon  the  gale.  All. this  time  he 
muttered  a  low,  monotonous  chant,  which  seemed  an 
incantation — now  and  then,  at  pauses  in  his  song,  turn- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  59 

ing  to  the  gathered  multitude,  over  whose  heads,  as 
they  lay  in  thick  groups  around  the  tumulus,  he  ex- 
tended his  arms  as  if  in  benediction.  The  flame 
all  this  while  gathered  but  slowly,  and  this  was  matter 
of  discontent  to  both  prophet  and  people ;  for  the 
gathering  of  the  fire  was  to  indicate  the  satisfaction 
of  the  Manneyto  with  their  proposed  design.  While 
its  progress  was  doubtful,  therefore,  a  silence  entirely 
unbroken,  and  full  of  awe,  prevailed  throughout  the 
crowd.  But  when  it  burst  forth,  growing  and  gather- 
ing— seizing  with  a  ravenous  rapidity  upon  the  sticks 
and  stubble  with  which  it  had  been  supplied — licking 
the  long  grass  as  it  increased,  and  running  down  the 
sides  of  the  tumulus,  until  it  completely  encircled  the 
gorgeously  decorated  form  of  Enoree-Mattee  as  with  a 
wreath  of  fire — when  it  sent  its  votive  and  odorous  smoke 
in  a  thick,  direct  column,  up  to  the  heavens — a  single, 
unanimous  shout,  that  thrilled  through  and  through  the 
forest,  even  as  the  sudden  uproar  of  one  of  its  own 
terrible  hurricanes,  burst  forth  from  that  now  exhilara- 
ted assembly,  while  each  started  at  once  to  his  feet, 
brandished  his  weapons  with  a  fierce  joy,  and  all 
united  in  that  wild  chorus  of  mixed  strife  and  adorar 
tion,  the  battle-hymn  of  their  nation : 

"  Sangarrah-me,  Yemassee, 
Sangarrah-me — Sangarrah-me — 

Battle-god  Manneyto,  0 

Here's  a  scalp,  here's  a  scull, 
This  is  blood,  'tis  a  heart, 
Scalp,  scull,  blood,  heart, 
"Tis  for  thee,  battle-god, 
'Tis  to  make  the  feast  for  thee, 
Battle-god,  battle-god." 

And  as  they  repeated  the  fierce  cry  of  onset,  the 
war-whoop  of  the  Yemassees,  another  shout  in  chorus 
followed  from  the  great  mass  of  the  people  beyond. 
This  cry,  ■  carried  onward  by  successive  groups  pre- 
viously stationed  for  that  purpose,  was  announced  to 
the  various  allies  in  their  different  encampments,  and 
was  equivalent  to  a  permission  of  the  Yemassee  god 
that  they  should  appear,  and  join  in  the  subsequent 
24* 


60  THE    YEMASSEE. 

ceremonial — a  ceremonial  which  now  affected  them 
equally  with  the  Yemassees.  * 

They  came  at  length,  the  great  body  of  that  fierce 
but  motley  gathering.  In  so  many  clans,  each  marched 
apart,  with  the  distinct  emblem  of  its  tribe.  There 
came  the  subtle  and  the  active  Coosaw,  with  his  small 
flaming  black  eye,  in  which  gathered  the  most  malig- 
nant fires.  A  stuffed  rattlesnake  in  coil,  with  protruded 
fang,  perched  upon  a  staff,  formed  their  emblem,  and 
no  bad  characteristic,  for  they  were  equally  fearless 
and  equally  fatal  with  that  reptile.  Then  came  the 
Combahee  and  the  Edistoh,  the.  Santee  and  the  Seratee 
— the  two  latter  kindred  tribes  bearing  huge  clubs, 
which  they  wielded  with  equal  strength  and  agility,  in 
addition  to  the  knife  and  bow.  Another  and  another 
cluster  forming  around,  completed  a  grouping  at 
once  imposing  and  unique, — each  body,  as  they  sever- 
ally came  to  behold  the  sacred  fire,  swelling  upwards 
from  the  mound,  precipitating  themselves  upon  the 
earth,  where  first  it  met  their  sight.  The  prophet  still 
continued  his  incantations,  until,  at  a  given  signal, 
when  Sanutee,  as  chief  of  his  people,  ascended  the 
tumulus,  and  bending  his  form  reverently  as  he  did 
so,  approached  him  to  know  the  result  of  his  auguries. 
The  appearance  of  the  old  chief  was  haggard  in  the 
extreme — his  countenance  bore  all  the  traces  of  that 
^nxiety  which,  at  such  a  moment,  the  true  patriot 
would  be  likely  to  feel — and  a  close  eye  might  discern 
evidences  of  a  deeper  feeling  working  at  his  heart, 
equally  vexing  and  of  a  more  personal  nature.  Still 
his  manner  was  firm  and  nobly  commanding.  He 
listened  to  the  words  of  the  prophet,  which  were  in 
their  own  language.  Then  advancing  in  front,  the 
chief  delivered  his  response  to  the  people.  It  was 
auspicious — Manneyto  had  promised  them  success 
against  their  enemies,  and  their  offerings  had  all  been 
accepted.  He  required  but  another,  and  that  the 
prophet  assured  them  was  at  hand.  Again  the  shout 
went  up  to  heaven,  and  the  united  warriors  clashed 
their  weapons,  and  yelled  aloud  the  triumph  which 
they  anticipated  over  their  foes. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  61 

In  a  neighbouring  copse,  well  concealed  by  the 
fchicket,  lay  the  person  of  Harrison.  From  this  spoi 
he  surveyed  the  entire  proceedings.  With  the  aid  of 
their  numerous  fires,  he  calculated  their  numbers  and 
the  different  nations  engaged,  whose  emblems  he  gen- 
erally knew,  and  listened  impatiently  for  some  eviden- 
ces of  their  precise  intention  ;  but  as  they  spoke  only 
in  their  own,  or  a  mixed  language  of  the  several  tribes, 
he  almost  despaired  of  any  discovery  of  this  kind, 
which  would  serve  him  much,  when  a  new  party  ap- 
peared upon  the  scene,  in  the  person  of  Chorley  the 
captain  of  the  sloop.  He  appeared  dressed  in  a  some- 
what gaudy  uniform — a  pair  of  pistols  stuck  in  his 
belt — a  broad  short  sword  at  his  side,  and  dagger — 
and,  though  evidently  in  complete  military  array,  with- 
out having  discarded  the  rich  golden  chain,  which 
hung  suspended  ostentatiously  from  his  thick,  short, 
bull-shaped  neck.  The  guise  of  Chorley  was  Spanish, 
and  over  his  head,  carried  by  one  of  his  seamen  in  a 
group  of  twenty  of  them,  which  followed  him,  he  bore 
the  flag  of  Spain,  and  this  confirmed  Harrison  in  all 
his  apprehensions.  He  saw  that  once  again  the 
Spaniard  was  about  to  strike  the  colony,  in  assertion 
of  an  old  claim  put  in  by  his  monarch  to  all  the  coun- 
try then  in  the  possession  of  the  English,  northward 
as  far  as  Virginia,  and  to  the  southwest  the  entire 
range,  including  the  Mississippi  and  some  even  of  the 
territory  beyond  it,  in  the  vague  vastness  of  geo- 
graphical imaginings  at  that  period.  In  support  of  this 
claim,  which,  under  the  existing  circumstances  of 
European  convention,  the  Spanish  monarch  could  not 
proceed  to  urge  by  arms  in  any  other  manner — the  two 
countries  being  then  at  peace  at  home — the  governor 
■of  the  one  colony,  that  of  Spain,  was  suffered  and 
instigated  to  do  that  which  his  monarch  immediately 
3ared  not ;  and  from  St.  Augustine  innumerable  inroads 
were  daily  projected  into  Georgia  and  the  Carolinas, 
penetrating  with  their  Indian  allies,  in  some  instances 
almost  to  the  gates  of  Charlestown.  The  Carolinians 
were  not  idle,  and  similar  inroads  were  made  upon 


62  THE    YEMASSEE. 

Florida ;  the  two  parents  looking  quietly  on  the  strife 
of  the  colonies,  as  it  gratified  the  national  animosity 
of  either  nation,  who,  seeming  quiet  enough  at  home,, 
yet  mutually  contributed  to  the  means  of  annoyance 
and  defence,  as  their  colonies  severally  needed  them. 
This  sort  of  warfare  had  been  continued  almost  from 
the  commencement  of  either  settlement,  and  the  result 
was  a  system  of  foray  into  the  enemy's  province  from 
time  to  time — now  of  the  Spaniards,  and  now  of  the 
Carolinians. 

Harrison  was  soon  taught  to  see  by  the  evidence 
before  him,  that  the  Spaniard  on  the  present  occasion 
had  more  deeply  matured  his  plans  than  he  had  ever 
anticipated  ;  and  that— taking  advantage  of  the  known 
discontents  among  the  Indians,  and  of  that  unwise  ces- 
sation of  watchfulness,  which  too  much  indicated  the 
confiding  nature  of  the  Carolinians,  induced  by  a  term 
of  repose,  protracted  somewhat  longer  than  usual — he 
had  prepared  a  mine  which  he  fondly  hoped,  and  with 
good  reason,  would  result  in  the  utter  extermination 
of  the  intruders,  whom  they  loved  to  destroy,  as  on 
one  sanguinary  occasion  their  own  inscription  phrased 
it,  not  so  much  because  they  were  Englishmen,  as 
"because  they  were  heretics."  His  success  in  the 
present  adventure,  he  felt  assured,  and  correctly, 
A\ould  place  the  entire  province  in  the  possession,  as 
in  his  thought  it  was  already  in  the  right,  of  his  most 
Catholic  Majesty. 

Captain  Chorley,  the  bucanier  and  Spanish  emis- 
sary, for,  in  those  times  and  that  region,  the  two  char- 
acters were  not  always  unlike,  advanced  boldly  into  the 
centre  of  the  various  assemblage.  He  was  followed 
by  twenty  stout  seamen,  the  greater  part  of  his  crew. 
These  were  armed  chiefly  with  pikes  and  cutlasses. 
A  few  carried  pistols,  a  few  muskets ;  but,  generally 
speaking,  the  larger  arms  seemed  to  have  been  re- 
garded as  unnecessary,  and  perhaps  inconvenient,  in 
an  affair  requiring  despatch  and  secrecv.  As  he  ap- 
proached, Sanutee  descended  from  the  mound  and  ad- 
vanced toward    him,  with  a  degree  of  respect,  which, 


THE    YEMASSEE.  63 

while  it  was  marked  and  gracious,  subtracted  nothing 
from  the  lofty  carriage  and  the  towering  dignity 
which  at  the  same  time  accompanied  it.  In  a  few 
words  of  broken  English,  he  explained  to  Chorley 
sundry  of  their  present  and  future  proceedings — de- 
tailed what  was  required  of  him,  in  the  rest  of  the 
ceremony ;  and  having  made  him  understand,  which 
he  did  with  some  difficulty,  he  reascended  the  mound, 
resuming  his  place  at  the  side  of  the  prophet,  who, 
all  the  while,  as  if  without  noticing  any  thing  going 
on  around,  had  continued  those  fearful  incantations  to 
the  war-god,  which  seemed  to  make  of  himself  a  vic- 
tim ;  for  his  eye  glared  with  the  light  of  madness — 
his  tongue  hung  forth  between  his  clinched  teeth, 
which  seemed  every  moment,  when  parting  and 
gnashing,  as  if  about  to  sever  it  in  two,  while  the  sla- 
ver gathered  about  his  mouth  in  thick  foam,  and  all  his 
features  were  convulsed.  At  a  signal  which  he  gave, 
while  under  this  fury,  a  long  procession  of  women, 
headed  by  Malatchie,  the  executioner,  made  their  ap- 
pearance from  behind  the  hill,  and  advanced  into  the 
area.  In  their  arms  six  of  them  bore  a  gigantic  figure, 
rudely  hewn  out  of  a  tree,  with  a  head  so  carved  as 
in  some  sort  to  resemble  that  of  a  man.  The  hatchet 
and  fire  had  chopped  out  the  face,  if  such  it  may  be 
called,  and  by  means  of  one  paint  or  another,  it  had 
been  stained  into  something  like  expression.  The 
scalp  of  some  slaughtered  enemy  was  stuck  upon  the 
scull,  and  made  to  adhere,  with  pitch  extracted  from 
the  pine.  The  body,  from  the  neck,  was  left  unhewn. 
This  figure  was  stuck  up  in  the  midst  of  the  assembly, 
in  the  sight  of  all,  while  the  old  women  danced  in 
wild  contortions  around  it,  uttering,  as  they  did  so,  a 
thousand  invectives  in  their  own  wild  language. 
They  charged  it  with  all  offences  comprised  in  their 
system  of  ethics.  It  was  a  liar,  and  a  thief — a  traitor, 
and  cheat — a  murderer,  and  without  a  Manneyto — in 
short,  in  a  summary  of  their  own — they  called  it 
•*'  English — English — English."  Having  done  this, 
ihey  receded,  leaving  the  area  clear  of  all  but  the  uncon- 


64  THE   TfEMASSEE. 

scious  image  which  they  had  so  denounced,  and  sinking 
back  behind  the  armed  circle,  they  remained  in  silence. 

Previously  taught  in  what  he  was  to  do,  Chorley  now 
advanced  alone,  and  striking  a  hatchet  full  in  the  face 
of  the  image,    he  cried  aloud  to  the  warriors  around, 

"  Hark,  at  this  English  dog  !  I  strike  my  hatchet 
in  his  scull.  Who  will  do  thus  for  the  King  of 
Spain  ?"  Malatchie  acted  as  interpreter  in  the  present 
instance,  and  the  words  had  scarcely  fallen  from  his 
lips,  when  Chinnabar,  a  chief  of  the  Coosaws,  his 
eyes  darting  fire,  and  his  whole  face  full  of  malignant 
delight,  rushed  out  from  his  clan,  and  seizing  the 
hatchet,  followed  up  the  blow  by  another,  which  sunk 
it  deeply  into  the  unconscious  block,  crying  aloud,  as 
he  did  so,  in  his  own  language, 

"  The  Coosaw, — ha  !  look,  he  strikes  the  scull  of 
the  English  !"  and  the  fierce  war-whcop  of  "  Coosaw — 
Sangarrah-me,"  followed  up  the  speech. 

"  So  strikes  the  Cherah ! — Cherah-hah,  Cherah- 
me !"  cried  the  head  warrior  of  that  tribe,  following 
the  example  of  the  Coosaw,  and  flinging  his  hatchet 
also  in  the  scull  of  the  image.  Another  and  another, 
in  ,like  manner  came  forward,  each  chief,  represent- 
ing a  tribe  or  nation,  being  required  to  do  so,  showing 
his  assent  to  the  war ;  until,  in  a  moment  of  pause, 
believing  that  all  were  done,  Chorley  reapproached, 
and  baring  his  cutlass  as  he  did  so,  with  a  face  full  of 
the  passion  which  one  might  be  supposed  to  exhibit, 
when  facing  a  deadly  and  a  living  foe,  with  a  single 
stroke  he  lodged  the  weapon  so  deeply  into  the  wood, 
that  for  a  while  its  extrication  was  doubtful— at  the 
same  time  exclaiming  fiercely, 

"  And  so  strikes  Richard  Chorley,  not  for  Spain,  nor 
France,  nor  Indian — not  for  any  body,  but  on  his  own 
log — for  his  own  wrong,  and  so  would  he  strike  again 
if  the  necks  of  all  England  lay  under  his  arm." 

A  strong  armed  Santee,  who  had  impatiently  waited 
his  turn  while  Chorley  spoke,  now  came  forward  with 
his  club — a  monstrous  mace,  gathered  from  the  swamps, 
under  the  stroke  of  which  the  image  went  down  pros- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  65 

trate.  Its  fall  was  the  signal  for  a  general  shout  and 
tumult  among  the  crowd,  scarcely  quieted,  as  a  new 
incident  was  brought  in  to  enliven  a  performance, 
which,  though  of  invariable  exercise  among  the  prim- 
itive Indians,  preparatory  to  all  great  occasions  like 
the  present,  was  yet  too  monotonous  not  to  need,  in  the 
end,  some  stirring  variation. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"And  war  is  the  great  Moloch;  for  his  feast, 
Gather  the  human  victims  he  requires, 
With  an  unglutted  appetite.    He- makes 
Earth  his  grand  table,  spread  with  winding-sheets, 
Man  his  attendant,  who,  with  madness  fit, 
Serves  his  own  brother  up,  nor  heeds  the  prayer, 
Groaned  by  a  kindred  nature,  for  reprieve." 

Blood  makes  the  taste  for  blood — we  teach  the 
hound  to  hunt  the  victim,  for  whose  entrails  he  acquires 
an  appetite.  We  acquire  such  tastes  ourselves  from 
like  indulgences.  There  is  a  sort  of  intoxicating 
restlessness  in  crime  that  seldom  suffers  it  to  stop  at 
a  solitary  excess.  It  craves  repetition — and  the  relish 
so  expands  with  indulgence,  that  exaggeration  becomes 
essential  to  make  it  a  stimulant.  Until  we  have 
created  this  appetite,  we  sicken  at  its  bare  contempla- 
tion. But  once  created,  it  is  impatient  of  employ, 
and  it  is  "wonderful  to  note  its  progress.  Thus,  tin 
young  Nero  wept  when  first  called  upon  to  sign  tin 
warrant  commanding  the  execution  of  a  criminal.  Bui 
the  ice  once  broken,  he  never  suffered  it  to  clo*.- 
again.  Murder  was  his  companion — blood  his  ban- 
quet— his  chief  stimulant  licentiousness — horrible  li- 
centiousness.    He  had  found  out  a  new  luxury. 

The  philosophy  which  teaches  this,  is  common  to 
experience  all  the  world  over.  It  was  not  unknown 
to  the  Yemassees.     Distrusting  the  strength  of  their 


66  THE    YEMASSEE. 

hostility  to  the  English,  the  chief  instigators  of  the 
proposed  insurrection,  as  we  have  seen,  deemed  it 
necessary  to  appeal  to  this  appetite,  along  with  a 
native  superstition.  Their  battle-god  called  for  a 
victim,  and  the  prophet  promulgated  the  decree.  A 
chosen  band  of  warriors  was  despatched  to  secure  a 
white  man ;  and  in  subjecting  him  to  the  fire-torture, 
the  Yemassees  were  to  feel  the  provocation  of  that 
thirsting  impulse  which  craves  a  continual  renewal  of 
its  stimulating  indulgence.  Perhaps  one  of  the  most 
natural  and  necessary  agents  of  man,  in  his  progress 
through  life,  is  the  desire  to  destroy.  .  It  is  this  which 
subjects  the  enemy — it  is-  this  that  prompts  him  to  ad- 
venture— which  enables  him  to  contend  with  danger, 
and  to  flout  at  death— which  carries  him  into  the  in- 
terminable forests,  and  impels  the  ingenuity  into  ex- 
ercise, which  furnishes  him  with  a  weapon  to  contend 
with  its  savage  possessors.  It  is  not  surprising,  if, 
prompted  by  dangerous  influences,  in  our  ignorance, 
we  pamper  this  natural  agent  into  a  disease,  which 
preys  at  length  upon  ourselves. 

The  party  despatched  for  this  victim  had  been  suc- 
cessful. The  peculiar  cry  was  heard  indicating  their 
success;  and  as  it  rung  through  the  wide  area,  the 
crowd  gave  way  and  parted  for  the  new  comers,  who 
were  hailed  with  a  degree  of  satisfaction,  extravagant 
enough,  unless  we  consider  the  importance  generally 
attached  to  their  enterprise.  On  their  procuring  this 
victim  alive,  depended  their  hope  of  victory  in  the 
approaching  conflict.  Such  was  the  prediction  of  the 
prophet — such  the  decree  of  their  god  of  war — and 
for  the  due  celebration  of  this  terrible  sacrifice,  the 
preparatory  ceremonies  had  been  delayed. 

They  were  delayed  no  longer.  With  shrill  cries 
and  the  most  savage  contortions,  not  to  say  convulsions 
of  body,  the  assembled  multitude  hailed  the  entree  of 
the  detachment  sent  forth  upon  this  expedition.  They 
had  been  eminently  successful ;  having  taken  their 
captive,  without  themselves  losing  a  drop  of  blood. 
Upon  this,  the  prediction  had  founded  their  success. 


THE    YEMAS5EE.  67 

Not  so  the  prisoner.  Though  unarmed  he  had  fought 
desperately,  and  his  enemies  were  compelled  to  wound 
in  order  to  secure  him.  He  was  only  overcome  by 
numbers,  and  the  sheer  physical  weight  of  their 
crowding  bodies. 

They  dragged  him  into  the  ring,  the  war-dance  all 
the  time  going  on  around  him.  From  the  copse,  close 
at  hand,  in  which  he  lay  concealed,  Harrison  could 
distinguish,  at  intervals,  the  features  of  the  captive. 
He  knew  him  at  a  glance,  as  a  poor  labourer,  named 
Macnamara,  an  Irishman,  who  had  gone  jobbing 
about,  in  various  ways,  throughout  the  settlement.  He 
was  a  fine-looking,  fresh,  muscular  man — not  more 
than  thirty — and  sustaining  well,  amid  that  fierce 
assemblage,  surrounded  with  foes,  and  threatened  with 
a  torture  to  which  European  ingenuity  could  not  often 
attain,  unless  in  the  Inquisitoral  dungeons,  the  fearless 
character  which  is  a  distinguishing  feature  with  his 
countrymen.  His  long,  black  hair,  deeply  saturated 
and  matted  with  his  blood,  which  oozed  out  from 
sundry  bludgeon-wounds  upon  the  head,  was  wildly 
distributed  in  masses  over  his  face  and  forehead.  His 
full,  round  cheeks,  were  marked  by  knife-wounds, 
also  the  result  of  his  fierce  defence  against  his  captors. 
His  hands  were  bound,  but  his  tongue  was  unfettered  ; 
and  as  they  danced  and  howled  about  him,  his  eye 
gleamed  forth  in  fury  and  derision,  while  his  words 
were  those  of  defiance  and  contempt. 

"  Ay — screech  and  scream,  ye  red  divils — ye'd  be 
after  seeing  how  a  jontleman  would  burn  in  the  fire, 
would  ye,  for  your  idification  and  delight.  But  its  not 
Tedd  Macnamara,  that  your  fires  and  your  arrows  will 
scare,  ye  divils  ;  so  begin,  boys,  as  soon  as  ye've  a 
mind  to,  and  don't  be  too  dilicate  in  your  doings." 

He  spoke  a  language,  so  far  as  they  understood  it, 
perfectly  congenial  with  their  notion  of  what  should  be- 
come a  warrior.  His  fearless  contempt  of  death,  his 
haughty  defiance  of  their  skill  in  the  arts  of  torture — 
his  insolent  abuse: — were  all  so  much  in  his  favour. 
They  were  proofs  of  the  true  brave,  and  thev  found, 
25 


68  THE    YEMASSEE. 

under  the  bias  of  their  habits  and  education,  an  added 
pleasure  in  the  belief,  that  he  would  stand  well  the  tor- 
ture, and  afford  them  a  protracted  enjoyment  of  it. 
His  execrations,  poured  forth  freely  as  they  forced  him 
into  the  area,  were  equivalent  to  one  of  their  own 
death-songs,  and  they  regarded  it  as  his. 

He  was  not  so  easily  compelled  in  the  required  direc- 
tion. Unable  in  any  other  way  to  oppose  them,  he 
gave  them  as  much  trouble  as  he  could,  and  in  no  way 
sought  to  promote  his  locomotion.  This'  was  good 
policy,  perhaps,  for  this  passive  resistance — the  most 
annoying  of  all  its  forms, — was  not  unlikely  to  bring 
about  an  impatient  blow,  which  might  save  him  from 
the  torture.  In  another  case,  such  might  have  been 
the  result  of  the  course  taken  by  Macnamara;  but 
now,  the  prophecy  was  the  object,  and  though  roughly 
handled  enough,  his  captors  yet  forbore  any  excessive 
violence.  Under  a  shower  of  kicks,  cuffs,  and  blows 
from  every  quarter,  the  poor  fellow,  still  cursing  them 
to  the  last,  hissing  at  and  spitting  upon  them,  was 
forced  to  a  tree  ;  and  in  a  few  moments  tightly  lashed 
back  against  it.  A  thick  cord  secured  him  around  the 
body  to  its  overgrown  trunk,  while  his  hands,  forced 
up  in  a  direct  line  above  his  head,  were  fastened  to 
the  tree  with  withes — the  two  palms  turned  outwards, 
nearly  meeting,  and  so  well  corded  as  to  be  perfectly 
immovable.  , 

A  cold  chill  ran  through  all  the  veins  of  Harrison, 
and  he  grasped  his  knife  with  a  clutch  as  tenacious  as 
that  of  his  fast-clinched  teeth,  while  he  looked,  from  his 
place  of  concealment,  upon  these  dreadful  preparations 
for  the  Indian  torture.  The  captive  was  seemingly  less 
sensible  of  its  terrors.  All  the  while,  with  a  tongue 
that  seemed  determined  to  supply,  so  far  as  it  might, 
the  forced  inactivity  of  all  other  members,  he  shouted 
forth  his  scorn  and  execrations. 

"The  pale-face  will  sing  his  death-song," — in  his 
own  language  cried  a  young  warrior. 

"  Ay,  ye  miserable  red  nagers, — ye  don't  frighten 
Tedd  Macnamara  now  so  aisily,"  he  replied,  though 


THE    YEMASSEE.  69 

without  comprehending  what  they  said,  yet  complying 
as  it  were  with  their  demand ;  for  his  shout  was  now 
a  scream,  and  his  words  were  those  of  exulting  supe- 
riority. 

"  It  aint  your  bows  and  your  arrows,  ye  nagers, 
nor  your  knives,  nor  your  hatchets,  that's  going  to 
make  Teddy  beg  your  pardon,  and  ax  for  yourmarcies. 
I  don't  care  for  your  knives,  and  your  hatchets,  at  all 
at  all,  ye  red  divils.  Not  I — by  my  faith,  and  my  own 
ould  father,  that  was  Teddy  before  me." 

They  took  him  at  his  word,  and  their  preparations 
were  soon  made  for  the  torture.  A  hundred  torches 
of  the  gummy  pine  were  placed  to  kindle  in  a  neigh- 
bouring fire — a  hundred  old  women  stood  ready  to 
employ  them.  These  were  to  be  applied  as  a  sort  of 
cautery,  to  the  arrow  and  knife-wounds  which  the 
more  youthful  savages  were  expected,  in  their  sports, 
to  inflict.  It  was  upon  their  captives  in  this  manner, 
that  the  youth  of  the  nation  was  practised.  It  was  in 
this  school  that  the  boys  were  prepared  to  become 
men — to  inflict  pain  as  well  as  to  submit  to  it.  To 
these  two  classes, — for  this  was  one  of  the  peculiar 
features  of  the  Indian  torture, — the  fire-sacrifice,  in  its 
initial  penalti  3s,  was  commonly  assigned ;  and  both  of 
them  were  nady  at  hand  to  commence  it.  How  beat 
the  heart  of  Harrison  with  conflicting  emotions,  in  the 
shelter  of  the  adjacent  bush,  as  he  surveyed  each  step 
in  the  prosecution  of  these  horrors. 

They  began.  A  dozen  youth,  none  over  sixteen, 
came  forward  and  ranged  themselves  in  front  of  the 
prisoner. 

"  And  what  for  do  ye  face  me  down  after  that  sort, 
ye  little  red  nagers  ?"  cried  the  sanguine  prisoner. 

They  answered  him  with  a  whoop — a  single  shriek 
-^-and  the  face  paled  then,  with  that  mimicry  of  war,  of 
the  man,  who  had  been  fearless  throughout  the  real  strife, 
and  amid  the  many  terrors  which  preceded  it.  The 
whoop  was  W.lowed  by  a  simultaneous  discharge  of  all 
their  arrows,  aimed,  as  would  appear  from  the  result, 
only  at  those  portions  of  his  person  which  were  not  vital. 


70  THE    YEMASSEE. 

This  was  the  common  exercise,  and  their  adroitness 
was  wonderful.  They  placed  the  shaft  where  they 
pleased.  Thus,  the  arrow  of  one  penetrated  one 
palm,  while  that  of  another,  almost  at  the  same  instant, 
was  driven  deep  into  the  other.  One  cheek  was 
grazed  by  a  third,  while  a  fourth  scarified  the  opposite. 
A  blunted  shaft  struck  him  full  in  vhe  mouth,  and 
arrested,  in  the  middle  his  usual  execration — "  You 
bloody  red  nagers,"  and  there  never  were  fingers  of  a 
hand  so  evenly  separated  one  from  the  other,  as  those 
of  Macnamara,  by  the  admirably-aimed  arrows  of 
those  embryo  warriors.  But  the  endurance  of  the 
captive  was  proof  against  all  their  torture  ;  and  while 
every  member  of  his  person  attested  the  felicity  of 
their  aim,  he  still  continued  to  shout  his  abuse,  not 
only  to  his  immediate  assailants,  but  to  the  old  war- 
riors, and  the  assembled  multitude,  gathering  around, 
and  looking  composedly  on — now  approving  this  or 
that  peculiar  hit,  and  encouraging  the  young  beginner 
with  a  cheer.  He  stood  all,  with  the  most  unflinching 
fortitude,  and  a  courage  that,  extorting  their  freest  admi- 
ration, was  quite  as  much  the  subject  of  cheer  with 
the  warriors  as  were  the  arrow-shots  which  sometimes 
provoked  its  exhibition. 

At  length,  throwing  aside  the  one  instrument,  they 
came  forward  with  the  tomahawk.  They  were  far 
more  cautious  with  this  fatal  weapon,  for,  as  their 
present  object  was  not  less  the  prolonging  of  their 
own  exercises  than  of  the  prisoner's  tortures,  it  was 
their  wish  to  avoid  wounding  fatally  or  even  severely. 
Their  chief  delight  was  in  stinging  the  captive  into 
an  exhibition  of  imbecile  and  fruitless  anger,  or  terrify- 
ing him  into  ludicrous  apprehensions.  They  had  no 
hope  of  the  latter  source  of  amusement  from  the  firm- 
ness of  the  victim  before  them  ;  and  to  rouse  his  impo- 
tent rage,  was  the  study  in  their  thought. 

With  words  of  mutual  encouragement,  and  boasting, 
garrulously  enough,  each  of  his  superior  skill,  they 
strove  to  rival  one  another  in  the  nicety  of  their  aim 
and  execution.     The  chief  object  was  barely  to  miss 


THE    YEMASSEE.  71 

the  part  at  which  they  aimed.  One  planted  the  toma- 
hawk in  the  tree  so  directly  over  the  head  of  his  captive, 
as  to  divide  the  huge  tuft  of  hair  which  grew  massively 
in  that  quarter ;  and  great  was  their  exultation  and 
loud  their  laughter,  when  the  head  thus  jeoparded,  very 
naturally,  under  the  momentary  impulse,  was  writhed 
about  from  the  stroke,  just  at  the  moment  when  another, 
aimed  to  lie  on  one  side  of  his  cheek,  clove  the  ear 
which  it  would  have  barely  escaped  had  the  captive 
continued  immoveable.  Bleeding  and  suffering  as  he 
must  have  been  with  such  infliction,  not  a  solitary  groan 
however  escaped  him.  The  stout-hearted  Irishman 
continued  to  defy  and  to  denounce  his  tormentors  in 
language  which,  if  only  partially  comprehended  by  his 
enemies,  was  yet  illustrated  with  sufficient  animation 
by  the  fierce  light  gleaming  from  his  eye  with  a  blaze 
like  that  of  madness,  and  in  the  unblenching  firmness 
of  his  cheek. 

"  And  what  for  do  ye  howl,  ye  red-skinned  divils,  as 
if  ye  never  seed  a  jontleman  in  your  born  days  before  ? 
Be  aisy,  now,  and  shoot  away  with  your  piinted  sticks, 
ye  nagers, — shoot  away  and  be  cursed  to  ye  ;  sure  it 
isn't  Tedd  Macnamara  that's  afeard  of  what  ye  can  do, 
ye  divils.  If  it's  the  fun  ye're  after  now,  honeys, — the 
sport  that's  something  like — why,  put  your  knife  over 
this  thong,  and  help  this  dilicate  little  fist  to  one  of  the 
bit  shilalahs  yonder.  Do  now,  pretty  crathers,  do — 
and  see  what  fun  will  come  out  of  it.  Ye'll  not  be 
after  loving  it  at  all  at  all,  I'm  a  thinking,  ye  monkeys, 
and  ye  alligators,  and  ye  red  nagers,  and  them's  the 
best  names  for  ye,  ye  ragamuffin  divils  that  ye  are." 

There  was  little  intermission  in  his  abuse.  It  kept 
due  pace  with  their  tortures,  which,  all  this  time,  con- 
tinued. The  tomahawks  gathered  around  him  on  every 
side  ;  and  each  close  approximation  of  the  instrument 
only  called  from  him  a  newer  sort  of  curse.  Harrison 
admired,  with  a  sympathy  in  favour  of  such  indomitable 
nerve,  which  more  than  once  prompted  him  to  rush  forth 
desperately  in  his  behalf.  But  the  madness  of  such  a 
movement  was  too  obvious,  and  the  game  proceeded 
without  interruption. 

2'* 


72  THE    YF.MASSEE. 

It  happened,  however,  as  it  would  seem  in  compli- 
ance with  a  part  of  one  of  his  demands,  that  one  of  the 
tomahawks,  thrown  so  as  to  rest  betweenthe  two  up- 
lifted palms  of  the  captive,  fell  short,  and  striking  the 
hide,  a  few  inches  below,  which  fastened  his  wrists  to 
the  tree,  entirely  separated  it,  and  gave  freedom  to  his 
arms.  Though  still  incapable  of  any  effort  for  his 
release,  as  the  thongs  tightly  girdled  his  body,  and 
were  connected  on  the  other  side  of  the  tree,  the  fear- 
less sufferer,  with  his  emancipated  fingers,  proceeded 
to  pluck  from  his  hands,  amid  a  shower  of  darts,  the 
arrows  which  had  penetrated  them  deeply.  These, 
with  a  shout  of  defiance,  he  hurled  back  upon  his 
assailants,  they  answering  in  similar  style  with  another 
shout  and  a  new  discharge  of  arrows,  which  penetrated 
his  person  in  every  direction,  inflicting  the  greatest 
pain,  though  carefully  avoiding  any  vital  region.  And 
now,  as  if  impatient  of  their  forbearance,  the  boys  were 
made  to  give  way,  and  each  armed  with  her  hissing 
and  resinous  torch,  the  old  women  approached,  howling 
and  dancing,  with  shrill  voices  and  an  action  of  body 
frightfully  demoniac.  One  after  another  they  rushed 
up  to  the  prisoner,  and  with  fiendish  fervour,  thrust  the 
blazing  torches  to  his  shrinking  body,  wherever  a  knife, 
an  arrow,  or  a  tomahawk  had  left  a  wound.  The  tor- 
ture of  this  infliction  greatly  exceeded  all  to  which  he 
had  been  previously  subjected  ;  and  with  a  howl,  the 
unavoidable  acknowledgment  forced  from  nature  by  the 
extremity  of  pain,  scarcely  less  horrible  than  that  which 
they  unitedly  sent  up  around  him,  the  captive  dashed 
out  his  hands,  and  grasping  one  of  the  most  forward 
among  his  unsexed  tormentors,  he  firmly  held  her  with 
one  hand,  while  with  the  other  he  possessed  himself 
of  the  blazing  torch  she  bore.  Hurling  her  backward, 
in  the  next  moment,  among  the  crowd  of  his  enemies, 
with  a  resolution  from  despair,  he  applied  the  torch  to 
the  thongs  which  bound  him  to  the  tree,  and  while  his 
garments  shrivelled  and  flamed,  and  while  the  flesh 
blistered  and  burned  with  the  terrible  application,  reso- 
lute as  desperate,  he  maintained  it  on  the  spot,  until  the 
withes  crackled,  blazed,  and  separated. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  73 

His  limbs  were  free — a  convulsion  of  joy  actually- 
rushed  through  his  heart,  and  he  shouted  with  a  new 
tone,  the  result  of  a  new  and  unimagined  sensation. 
He  leaped  forward,  and  though  the  flames  grasped  and 
gathered  in  a  thick  volume,  rushing  from  his  waist  to 
his  extremities,  completely  enveloping  him  in  their 
embrace,  they  offered  no  obstacle  to  the  fresh  impulse 
which  possessed  him.  He  bounded  onward,  with  that 
over-head-and-heel  evolution  which  is  called  the  som- 
erset, and  which  carried  him,  a  broad  column  of 
fire,  into  the  very  thickest  of  the  crowd.  They  gave 
way  to  him  on  every  side — they  shrunk  from  that  living- 
flame,  which  mingled  the  power  of  the  imperial  ele 
ment  with  the  will  of  its  superior,  man.  Panic-stricken 
for  a  few  moments  at  the  novel  spectacle,  they  shrunk 
away  on  either  hand  before  the  blazing  body,  and  offered 
no  obstacle  to  his  flight. 

But  the  old  warriors  now  took  up  the  matter.  They 
had  suffered  the  game  to  go  on  as  was  their  usage,  for 
the  tutoring  of  the  youthful  savage  in  those  arts  which 
are  to  be  the  employment  of  his  life.  But  their  own 
appetite  now  gave  them  speed,  and  they  soon  gathered 
upon  the  heels  of  the  fugitive.  Fortunately,  he  was 
still  vigorous,  and  his  hurts  were  those  only  of  the 
flesh.  His  tortures  only  stimulated  him  into  a  daring- 
disregard  of  any  fate  which  might  follow,  and,  looking 
once  over  his  shoulder,  and  with  a  halloo  not  unlike 
their  own  whoop,  Macnamara  bounded  forward  directly 
upon  the  coppice  which  concealed  Harrison.  The 
latter  saw  his  danger  from  this  approach,  but  it  was 
too  late  to  retreat.  He  drew  his  knife  and  kept  close 
to  the  cover  of  the  fallen  tree  alongside  of  which  he 
had  laid  himself  down.  Had  the  flying  Macnamara 
seen  this  tree  so  as  to  have  avoided  it,  Harrison  might 
still  have  maintained  his  concealment.  But  the  fugi- 
tive, unhappily,  looked  out  for  no  such  obstruction.  He 
thought  only  of  flight,  and  his  legs  were  exercised  at 
the  expense  of  his  eyes.  A  long-extended  branch, 
shooting  from  the  tree,  interposed,  and  he  saw  it  not. 
His  feet  were  suddenly  entangled,  and  he  fell  between 

Vol.  II. 


74  THE    YEMASSEE. 

the  arm  and  the  trunk  of  the  tree.  Before  he  could 
rise  or  recover,  his  pursuers  were  upon  him.  He  had 
half  gained  his  feet,  and  one  of  his  hands,  in  promoting 
this  object,  rested  upon  the  tree  itself,  on  the  opposite 
side  of  which  Harrison  lay  quiet,  while  the  head  of 
Macnamara  was  just  rising  above  it.  At  tha^t  moment 
a  tall  chief  of  the  Seratees,  with  a  huge  club,  dashed 
the  now  visible  scull  down  upon  the  trunk.  The  blow 
was  fatal — the  victim  uttered  not  even  a  groan,  and 
the  spattering  brains  were  driven  wide,  and  into  the 
upturned  face  of  Harrison. 

There  was  no  more  concealment  for  him  after  that, 
and  starting  to  his  feet,  in  another  moment  his  knife 
was  thrust  deep  into  the  bosom  of  the  astonished  Sera- 
tee  before  he  had  resumed  the  swing  of  his  ponder- 
ous weapon.  The  Indian  sunk  back,  with  a  single 
cry,  upon  those  who  followed  him — half  paralyzed, 
with  himself,  at  the  new  enemy  whom  they  had  con- 
jured up.  But  their  panic  was  momentary,  and  the 
next  instant  saw  fifty  of  them  crowding  upon  the  Eng- 
lishman. He  placed  himself  against  a  tree,  hopeless, 
but  determined  to  struggle  to  the  last.  But  he  was 
surrounded  in  a  moment — his  arms  pinioned  from  be- 
hind, and  knives  from  all  quarters  glittering  around 
him,  and  aiming  at  his  breast.  What  might  have  been 
his  fate  under  the  excitement  of  the  scene  and  circum- 
stances could  well  be  said ;  for,  already,  the  brother 
chief  of  the  Seratee  had  rushed  forward  with  his  up- 
lifted mace,  and  as  he  had  the  distinct  claim  to  re- 
venge, there  was  no  interference.  Fortunately,  how- 
ever, for  the  captive,  the  blow  was  stricken  aside  and 
intercepted  by  the  huge  staff  of  no  less  a  person  than 
the  prophet. 

"  He  is  mine — the  ghost  of  Chaharattee,  my  brother, 
is  waiting  for  that  of  his  murderer.  I  must  hang 
his  teeth  on  my  neck,"  was  the  fierce  cry,  in  his  own 
language,  of  the  surviving  Seratee,  when  his  blow  was 
thus  arrested.  But  the  prophet  had  his  answer  in  a 
sense  not  to  be  withstood  by  the  superstitious  savage. 

"  Does  the  prophet  speak  for  himself  or  for  Man- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  75 

neyto  ?  Is  Manneyto  a  woman  that  we  may  say, 
Wherefore  thy  word  to  the  prophet  ?  Has  not  Man- 
neyto spoken,  and  will  not  the  chief  obey  ?  Lo  !  this 
is  our  victim,  and  the  words  of  Manneyto  are  truth. 
He  hath  said  one  victim — one  English  for  the  sacri- 
fice,— and  but  one  before  we  sing  the  battle-song — 
before  we  go  on  the  war-path  of  our  enemies.  Is  not 
his  word  truth?  This  blood  says  it  is  truth.  We 
may  not  slay  another,  but  on  the  red  trail  of  the  Eng- 
lish. The  knife  must  be  drawn  and  the  tomahawk 
lifted  on  the  ground  of  the  enemy,  but  the  land  of 
Manneyto  is  holy,  save  for  his  sacrifice.  Thou  must 
not  strike  the  captive.  He  is  captive  to  the  Ye-. 
massee." 

"  He  is  the  captive  to  the  brown  lynx  of  Seratee — 
is  he  not  under  his  club  ?"  was  the  fierce  reply. 

"  Will  the  Seratee  stand  up  against  Manneyto  1 
Hear!  That  is  his  voice  of  thunder,  and  see,  the  eye 
which  he  sends  forth  in  the  lightning  !" 

Thus  confirmed  in  his  words  by  the  solemn  augu- 
ries to  which  he  referred,  and  which,  just  at  that  mo- 
ment came,  as  if  in  fulfilment  and  support  of  his  deci- 
sion, the  Seratee  obeyed,  while  all  around  grew  silent 
and  serious.  But  he  insisted  that,  though  compelled 
to  forbear  his  blood,  he  was  at  least  his  captive.  This, 
too,  the  prophet  denied.  The  prisoner  was  made  such 
upon  the  sacred  ground  of  the  Yemassees,  and  was, 
therefore,  doubly  their  captive.  He  was  reserved  for 
sacrifice  to  the  Manneyto  at  the  conclusion  of  their 
present  enterprise,  when  his  doom  would  add  to  the 
solemnity  of  their  thanksgiving  for   the   anticipated 


76  THE   YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  Cords  for  the  warrior — he  shall  see  the  fray 
His  arm  shall  share  not — a  worse  doom  than  death, 
For  him  whose  heart,  at  every  stroke,  must  bleed — 
Whose  fortune  is  the  stake,  and  yet  denied 
All  throw  to  win  it." 

The  war-dance  was  begun  in  the  presence  of  the 
prisoner.  He  looked  down  upon  the  preparations  for 
a  conflict,  no  longer  doubtful,  between  the  savages 
and  his  people.  He  watched  their  movements,  heard 
their  arrangements,  saw  their  direction,  knew  their  de- 
sign, yet  had  no  power  to  strike  in  for  the  succour  or 
the  safety  of  those  in  whom  only  he  lived.  What 
were  his  emotions  in  that  survey  ?  Who  shall  describe 
them  ? 

They  began  the  war-dance,  the  young  warriors,  the 
boys,  and  women — that  terrible  but  fantastic  whirl — 
regulated  by  occasional  strokes  upon  the  uncouth 
drum  and  an  attenuated  blast  from  the  more  flexible 
native  bugle.  That  dance  of  death — a  dance,  which, 
perfectly  military  in  its  character,  calling  for  every 
possible  position  or  movement  common  to  Indian 
strategy,  moves  them  all  with  an  extravagant  sort  of 
grace  ;  and  if  contemplated  without  reference  to  the 
savage  purposes  which  it  precedes,  is  singularly  pom- 
pous and  imposing ;  wild,  it  is  true,  but  yet  exceedingly 
'unaffected  and  easy,  as  it  is  one  of  the  most  familiar 
practices  of  Indian  education.  In  this  way,  by  ex- 
treme physical  exercise,  they  provoke  a  required  de- 
gree of  mental  enthusiasm.  With  this  object  the  abo- 
rigines have  many  kinds  of  dances,  and  others  of 
even  more  interesting  character.  Among  many  of 
the  tribes  these  exhibitions  are  literally  so  many 
chronicles.     They  are  the  only  records,  left  by  tradi- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  77 

tion,  of  leading  events  in  their  history  which  they 
were  instituted  to  commemorate.  An  epoch  in  the 
national  progress — a  new  discovery — a  new  achieve- 
ment was  frequently  distinguished  by  the  invention  of  a 
dance  or  game,  to  which  a  name  was  given  significant 
of  the  circumstance.  Thus,  any  successful  hunt,  out 
of  their  usual  routine,  was  imbodied  in  a  series  of 
evolutions  or  the  gathering  for  a  feast,  exhibiting  fre- 
quently in  sport,  what  had  really  taken  place.  In 
this  way,  handed  from  tribe  to  tribe,  and  from  genera- 
tion to  generation,  it  constituted  a  portion,  not  merely 
of  the  history  of  the  past,  but  of  the  education  of  the 
future.  This  education  fitted  them  alike  for  the  two 
great  exercises  of  most  barbarians, — the  battle  and  the 
chase.  The  weapons  of  the  former  were  also  those 
of  the  latter  pursuit,  and  the  joy  of  success  m  either 
object  was  expressed  in  the  same  manner.  The  dance 
and  song  formed  the  beginning,  as  they  certainly  made 
the  conclusion  of  all  their  adventures  ;  and  whether  in 
defeat  or  victory,  there  was  no  omission  of  the  prac- 
tice. Thus  we  have  the  song  of  war — of  scalp-taking 
— of  victory — of  death,  not  to  speak  of  the  thousand 
various  forms  by  which  their  feelings  were  expressed 
in  the  natural  progress  of  the  seasons.  These  songs, 
in  most  cases,  called  for  corresponding  dances,  and  the 
Indian  warrior,  otherwise  seeming  rather  a  machine 
than  a  mortal,  adjusted,  on  an  inspiring  occasion,  the 
strain  of  the  prophet  and  the  poet,  to  the  wild  and  vari- 
ous action  of  the  Pythia.  The  elements  of  all  uncul- 
tivated people  are  the  same.  The  early  Greeks,  in 
their  stern  endurance  of  torment,  in  their  sports  and 
exercises,  were  exceedingly  like  the  North  American 
savages.  The  Lacedaemonians  went  to  battle  with 
songs  and  dances  ;  a  similar  practice  obtained  among 
the  Jews  ;  and  one  peculiarity,  alike,  of  the  Danes  and 
Saxons,  was  to  usher  in  the  combat  with  wild  and  dis- 
cordant anthems. 

The  survey  was  curious  to  Harrison,  but  it  was  also 
terrible.  Conscious  as  he  was,  not  merely  of  his  own, 
but  of  the  danger  of  the  colony,  he  could  not  help  feel- 


78  THE    YEMASSEE. 

ing  the  strange  and  striking  romance  of  his  situation. 
Bound  to  a  tree — helpless,  hopeless — a  stranger,  a 
prisoner,  and  destined  to  the  sacrifice.  The  thick 
night  around  him — a  thousand  enemies,  dark,  dusky, 
fierce  savages,  half  intoxicated  with  that  wild  physical 
action  which  has  its  drunkenness,  not  less  than  wine. 
Their  wild  distortions — their  hell-enkindled  eyes,  their 
barbarous  sports  and  weapons — the  sudden  and  de- 
moniac shrieks  from  the  women — the  occasional  burst 
of  song,  pledging  the  singer  to  the  most  diabolical 
achievements,  mingled  up  strangely  in  a  discord  which 
had  its  propriety,  with  the  clatter  of  the  drum,  and  the 
long  melancholy  note  of  the  bugle.  And  then,  that 
high  tumulus,  that  place  of  sculls — the  bleached  bones 
of  centuries  past  peering  through  its  sides,  and  speak- 
ing for  the  abundant  fulness  of  the  capacious  mansion- 
house  of  death  within.  The  awful  scene  of  torture, 
and  the  subsequent  unscrupulous  murder  of  the  heroic 
Irishman — the  presence  of  the  gloomy  prophet  in  at- 
tendance upon  the  sacred  fire,  which  he  nursed  care- 
fully upon  the  mound — the  little  knot  of  chiefs,  con- 
sisting of  Sanutee,  Ishiagaska,  and  others,  not  to 
speak  of  the  Spanish  agent,  Chorley — in  close  council 
in  his  sight,  but  removed  from  hearing — these,  and  the 
consciousness  of  his  own  situation,  while  they  brought 
to  his  heart  an  added  feeling  of  hopelessness,  could 
not  fail  to  awaken  in  his  mind  a  sentiment  of  wonder 
and  admiration,  the  immediate  result  of  his  excited 
thoughts  and  fancy. 

But  the  dance  was  over  at  a  signal  from  the  prophet. 
He  saw  that  the  proper  feeling  of  excitation  had  been 
attained.  The  demon  was  aroused,  and,  once  aroused, 
was  sleepless.  The  old  women  waved  their  torches 
and  rushed  headlong  through  the  woods — shouting 
and  shrieking — while  the  warriors,  they  struck  their 
knives  and  hatchets  into  the  neighbouring  trees,  giving 
each  the  name  of  an  Englishman,  and  howling  out  the 
sanguinary  promise  of  the  scalp-song,  at  every  stioke 
inflicted  upon  the  unconscious  trunk. 

"  Sangarrah-me, — Sangarrah-me,  Yemassee"  was  the 


THE    YEMASSEE.  79 

cry  of  each  chief  to  his  particular  division  ;  and  as  they 
arranged  themselves  under  their  several  commands 
Harrison  was   enabled  to  form  some  idea  of  the  pro- 
posed destination  of  each  party.     To  Ishiagaska  and 
Uiorley,  he  saw  assigned  a  direction  which  he  readily 
conjectured  would  lead  them  to  the  Block  House,  and 
the  settlement  m  the  immediate  neighbourhood.     This 
was  also  to  be  inferred  from  the  connexion  of  Chorlev 
with  the  command  of  Ishiagaska,  as  it-was  not  reason- 
able to  suppose  that  the  former  would  desire  any  duty 
carrying  him  far  from  his  vessel.     To  another  force 
the  word  Coosaw  sufficiently  indicated  Beaufort  as  the 
point    destined   for  its  assault;  and  thus  party  after 
party  was  despatched  in  one  direction  or  another  until 
but  a  single  spot  of  the  whole  colony  remained  unpro- 
vided with  an  assailant,— and  that  was  Charlestown. 
Ihe   reservation   was    sufficiently   accounted    for    as 
Sanutee,  and  the  largest  division  of  the  Yemassees   re- 
mained unappropriated.     The  old  chief  had  reserved 
this,  the  most  dangerous  and  important  part  of  the  ad- 
venture, to  himself.     A  shrill  cry— an  unusual  sound- 
broke  upon  the  silence,  and   the  crowd  was  gone   in 
that  instant;— all  the  warriors,  with  Sanutee  at  their 
head.     The  copse  concealed  them  from  the  sight  of 
Harrison,  who,    in     another   moment,  found   himself 
more  closely  grappled  than  before.     A  couple  of  toma- 
hawks  waved  before   his   eves   in  the  glare   of  the 
torches  borne  in  the  hands  of 'the  warriors  who  secured 
him.     No   resistance    could   have    availed    him,    and 
cursing  his  ill  fortune,  and  suffering  the  most   excru- 
ciating of  mental  griefs  as  he  thought  of  the  progress 
■of  the  fate  which  threatened  his   people,  he  made  a 
merit  of  necessity,  and  offering  no  obstacle  to  their 
will,  he  was  carried  to  Pocota-ligo— bound  with  thongs 
and  destined  for  the  sacrifice  which  was  to   follow 
hard  upon  their  triumph.     Such  was  the  will   of  the 
prophet  of  Manneyto,  and  ignorance  does  not   often 
question  the  decrees  of  superstition. 

Borne  back  with  the  crowd,  Harrison  entered  Poco- 
ta-hgo  under  a  motley  guard  and  guidance.     He  had 


gO  THE    YEMASSEE. 

been  intrusted  to  the  care  of  a  few  superannuated  old 
warriors,  who  were  deemed  sufficient  for  the  service 
of  keeping  him  a  prisoner  ;  but  they  were  numerously 
attended.     The  mob  of  the  Yemassees— for  they  had 
their  mobs  as  well  as  the  more  civilized— consisted 
of  both  sexes ;    and  when  we  reflect  upon  the  usual 
estimation  placed  upon  women  by  all  barbarous  peo- 
ple, we  shall  not  be  surprised  to  know  that,  on  the 
present  occasion,  the  sex  were  by  far  the  most  noisy 
if  not  the  most  numerous.     Their  cries— savage  and 
sometimes  indecent  gestures— their  occasional  brutal- 
ity, and  the  freedom  and  frequency  with  which  they  in- 
flicted blows  upon  the  captive  as  he  approached  them 
on  his  way  to  prison,  might  find,  with  no  little  appro- 
priateness, a  choice  similitude  in  the  blackguardism 
of  the  Eleusinian  mysteries— the  occasional  exercises 
of  a  far  more  pretending  people  than  that  under  our 
eye.     They  ran,  many  of  them,  with  torches  waving 
wildly  above  their  heads,  on  each  side  of  the  prisoner, 
some  urging  him  with  blows  and  stripes,  less  danger- 
ous, it  is  true,  than  annoying.     Many  of  them,  in  their 
own  language,  poured  forth  all  manner  of   strains— 
chiefly  of  taunt  and  battle,  but  frequently  of  down- 
right indecency.     And  here  we  may  remark,  that  it  is 
rather  too  much  the  habit  to  speak  of  the  Indians,  at 
home  and  in  their  native  character,  as  sternly  and  in- 
differently cold— people  after  the  fashion  of  the  elder 
Cato,  who  used  to  say  that  he  never  suffered  his  wife 
to  embrace  him,  except  when  it  thundered— adding,  by 
way  of  jest,  that  he  was  therefore  never  happy  except 
when  Jupiter  was  pleased  to  thunder.     We  should  be 
careful  not   to    speak  of  them   as   we    casually   see 
them,— when,  conscious  of  our  superiority,  and  unia- 
miliarwith  our  language,  they  are  necessarily  taciturn, 
as  it  is  the  pride,  of  an  Indian  to  hide  his  deficien- 
cies.    With  a  proper  policy,  which  might  greatly  ben- 
efit upon  circulation,  he  conceals  his  ignorance  in  si- 
lence.    In  his  own  habitation,  uninfluenced  by  drink  or 
any  form  of  degradation,  and  unrestrained  by  the  pres- 
ence of  superiors,  he  is  sometimes  even  a  jester— 


THE    YEMASSEE.  81 

delights  in  a  joke,  practical  or  otherwise,  and  is  not 
scrupulous  about  its  niceness  or  propriety.  In  his 
council  he  is^fond  of  speaking — glories  in  long  talks, 
and,  as  he  grows  old,  if  you  incline  a  willing  ear,  even 
becomes  garrulous.  Of  course,  all  these  habits  are 
restrained  by  circumstance.  He  does  not  chatter 
when  he  fights  or  hunts,  and  when  he  goes  to  make  a 
treaty,  never  presumes  to  say  more  than  he  has  been 
taught  by  his  people. 

The  customary  habit  of  the  Yemasaees  was  not 
departed  from  on  the  present  occasion.  The  mob 
had  nothing  of  forbearance  toward  the  prisoner,  and 
they  showed  but  little  taciturnity.  Hootings  and  howl- 
ings— shriekings  and  shoutings — confused  cries — 
yells  of  laughter — hisses  of  scorn — here  and  there  a 
fragment  of  song,  either  of  battle  or  ridicule,  gather- 
ing, as  it  were,  by  a  common  instinct,  into  a  chorus  of 
fifty  voices— most  effectually  banished  silence  from 
her  usual  night  dominion  in  the  sacred  town  of  Pocota- 
ligo.  In  every  dwelling— for  the  hour  was  not  yet 
late — the  torch  blazed  brightly — the  entrances  were 
thronged  with  their  inmates,  and  not  a  tree  but  gave 
shelter  to  its  own  peculiar  assemblage.  Curiosity  to 
behold  a  prisoner,  destined  by  the  unquestionable  will 
of  the  prophet  to  the  great  sacrifice  which  gave  grati- 
tude to  the  Manneyto  for  the  victory  which  such  a 

pledge  was  most  confidently  anticipated  to  secure, 

led  them  forward  in  droves  ;  so  that,  when  Harrison 
arrived  in  the  centre  of  the  town,  the  path  became 
almost  entirely  obstructed  by  the  dense  and  still  gath- 
ering masses  pressing  upon  them.  The  way,  indeed, 
would  have  been  completely  impassable  but  for  the' 
hurrying  torches  carried  forward  by  the  attending 
women  ;  who,  waving  them  about  recklessly  over  the 
heads  of  the  crowd,  distributed  the  melted  gum  in 
every  direction,  and  effectually  compelled  the  more 
obtrusive  to  recede  into  less  dangerous  places. 

Thus  marshalled,  his  guards  bore  the  captive  on- 
ward to  the  safe-keeping  of  a  sort  of  block  house — 
a  thing  of  logs,  rather  more  compactly  built  than  was 


82  THE    YEMASSEE. 

the  wont  of  Indian  dwellings  usually,  and  without  any 
aperture  save  the  single  one  at  which  he  was  forced 
to  enter.  Not  over  secure,  however,  as  a  prison,  it 
was  yet  made  to  answer  the  purpose,  and  what  it 
lacked  in  strength  and  security  was,  perhaps,  more 
than  supplied  in  the  presence  of  the  guard  put  upon  it. 
Thrusting  their  prisoner,  through  the  narrow  entrance, 
into  a  damp  apartment,  the  earthen  floor  of  which  was 
strewn  with  pine  trash,  they  secured  the  door  with 
thongs  on  the  outside,  and  with  the  patience  of  the 
warrior,  they  threw  themselves  directly  before  it. 
Seldom  making  captives  unless  as  slaves,  and  the 
punishments  of  their  own  people  being  usually  of  a 
summary  character,  will  account  for  the  want  of  skill 
among  the  Yemassees  in  the  construction  of  their  dun- 
geon. The  present  answered  all  their  purposes,  sim- 
ply, perhaps,  because  it  had  answered  the  purposes  of 
their  fathers.  This  is  reason  enough,  in  a  thousand 
respects,  with  the  more  civilized.  The  prison-house 
to  which  Harrison  was  borne,  had  been  in  existence 
a  century. 


CHAPTER  XL 

"  Why,  this  is  magic,  and  it  breaks  his  bonds, 
It  gives  him  freedom." 

Harrison  was  one  of  those  true  philosophers  who 
know  always  how  to  keep  themselves  for  better  times. 
As  he  felt  that  resistance,  at  that  moment,  must  cer- 
tainly be  without  any  good  result,  he  quietly  enough 
suffered  himself  to  be  borne  to  prison.  He  neither 
halted  nor  hesitated,  but  went  forward,  offering  no 
obstacle,  with  as  much  wholesome  good-will  and  com- 
pliance as  if  the  proceeding  was  perfectly  agreeable 
to  him.  He  endured,  with  no  little  show  of  patience, 
all  the  blows  and  bufFetings  so  freely  bestowed  upon 


THE    YEMASSEE.  83 

him  by  his  feminine  enemies  ;  and  if  he  did  not  alto- 
gether smile  under  the  infliction,  he  at  least  took  good 
care  to  avoid  any  ebullition  of  anger,  which,  as  it  was 
there  impotent,  must  necessarily  have  been  a  weak- 
ness, and  would  most  certainly  have  been  entirely 
thrown  away.  Among  the  Indians,  this  was  by  far  the 
better  policy.  They  can  admire  the  courage,  though 
they  hate  the  possessor.  Looking  round  amid  the 
crowd,  Harrison  thought  he  could  perceive  many  evi- 
dences of  this  sentiment.  Sympathy  and  pity  he  also 
made  out,  in  the  looks  of  a  few.  One  thing  he  did 
certainly  observe — a  generous  degree  of  forbearance, 
as  well  of  taunt  as  of  buffet,  on  the  part  of  all  the  better 
looking  among  the  spectators.  Nor  did  he  deceive 
himself.  The  insolent  portion  of  the  rabble  formed  a 
class  especially  for  such  purposes  as  the  present ;  and 
to  them,  its  duties  were  left  exclusively.  The  for- 
bearance of  the  residue  looked  to  him  like  kindness, 
and  with  the  elasticity  of  his  nature,  hope  came  with 
the  idea. 

Nor  was  he  mistaken.  Many  eyes  in  that  assem- 
bly looked  upon  him  with  regard  and  commiseration. 
The  firm  but  light  tread  of  his  step — the  upraised, 
unabashed,  the  almost  laughing  eye — the  free  play  into 
liveliness  of  the  muscles  of  his  mouth — sometimes 
curled  into  contempt,  and  again  closely  compressed,  as 
in  defiance — together  with  his  fine,  manly  form  and 
even  carriage — were  all  calculated  to  call  for  the  re- 
spect, if  for  no  warmer  feeling,  of  the  spectators. 
They  all  knew  the  bravery  of  the  Coosah-moray-te,  or 
the  Coosaw-killer — many  of  them  had  felt  his  kind- 
ness and  liberality,  and  but  for  the  passionate  nation- 
ality of  the  Indian  character,  the  sympathy  of  a  few 
might,  at  that  moment,  have  worked  actively  in  his 
favour,  and  with  the  view  to  his  release. 

There  was  one  in  particular,  among  the  crowd, 
who  regarded  him  with  a  melancholy  satisfaction.  It 
was  Matiwan.  As  the  whole  nation  had  gathered  to 
the  sacred  town,  in  which,  during  the  absence  of  the 
warriors,  they  found  shelter,  she  was  now  a  resident 
26* 


84  THB    YEMASSEE. 

of  Pocota-ligo.  One  among,  but  not  of  the  rabble,  she 
surveyed  the  prisoner  with  an  emotion  which  only 
the  heart  of  the  bereaved  mother  may  define.  "  How 
like,"  she  muttered  to  herself  in  her  own  language — 
"  how  like  to  the  boy  Occonestoga."  And  as  she 
thought  thus,  she  wondered  if  Harrison  had  a  mother 
over  the  great  waters.  Sympathy  has  wings  as  well 
as  tears,  and  her  eyes  took  a  long  journey  in  imagina- 
tion to  that  foreign  land.  She  saw  the  mother  ot  the 
captive  with  a  grief  at  heart  like  her  own ;  and  her 
own  sorrows  grew  deeper  at  the  survey.  Then  came 
a  strange  wish  to  serve  that  pale  mother — to  save  her 
from  an  anguish  such  as  hers  :  then  she  looked  upon  the 
captive,  and  her  memory  grew  active  ;  she  knew  him 
— she  had  seen  him  before  in  the  great  town  of  the 
pale-faces — he  appeared  a  chief  among  them,  and  so 
had  been  called  by  her  father,  the  old  warrior  Etiwee, 
who,  always  an  excellent  friend  to  the  English,  had 
taken  her,  with  the  boy  Occonestoga — then  a  mere 
boy — on  a  visit  to  Charlestown.  She  had  there  seen 
Harrison,  but  under  another  name.  He  had  been  kind 
to  her  father — had  made  him  many  presents,  and  the 
beautiful  little  cross  of  red  coral,  which,  without  know- 
ing any  thing  of  its  symbolical  associations,  she  had 
continued  to  wear  in  her  bosom,  had  been  the  gift  of 
him  who  was  now  the  prisoner  to  her  people.  She 
knew  him  through  his  disguise — her  father  would  have 
known — would  have  saved  him — had  he  been  living. 
She  had  heard  his  doom  denounced  to  take  place  on 
the  return  of  the  war-party  : — she  gazed  upon  the 
manly  form,  the  noble  features,  the  free,  fearless 
carriage — she  thought  of  Occonestoga — of  the  pale 
mother  of  the  Englishman — of  her  own  bereavement 
— and  of  a  thousand  other  things  belonging  naturally  to 
the  same  topics.  The  more  she  thought,  the  more  her 
heart  grew  softened  within  her — the  more  aroused  her 
brain — the  more  restless  and  unrestrainable  her  spirit. 
She  turned  away  from  the  crowd  as  the  prisoner 
was  hurried  into  the  dungeon.  She  turned  away  in  an- 
guish of  heart,  and  a  strange  commotion  of  thought. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  85 

She  sought  the  shelter  of  the  neighbouring  wood, 
and  rambled  unconsciously,  as  it  were,  among  the  old 
forests.  But  she  had  no  peace — she  was  pursued  by 
the  thought  which  assailed  her  from  the  first.  The 
image  of  Occonestoga  haunted  her  footsteps,  and  she 
turned  only  to  see  his  bloody  form  and  gashed  head  for 
ever  at  her  elbow.  He  looked  appealingly  to  her,  and 
she  then  thought  of  the  English  mother  over  the  waters. 
He  pointed  in  the  direction  of  Pocota-ligo,  and  she 
then  saw  the  prisoner,  Harrison.  She  saw  him  in  the 
dungeon,  she  saw  him  on  the  tumulus — the  flames 
were  gathering  around  him — a  hundred  arrows  stuck 
in  his  person,  and  she  beheld  the  descending  hatchet, 
bringing  him  the  coup  de  grace.  These  images  were 
full  of  terror,  and  their  contemplation  still  more  phren- 
sied  her  intellect.  She  grew  strong  and  fearless  with 
the  desperation  which  they  brought,  and  rushing  through 
the  forest,  she  once  more  made  her  way  into  the 
heart  of  Pocota-ligo. 

The  scene  was  changed.  The  torches  were  either 
burnt  out  or  decaying,  and  scattered  over  the  ground. 
The  noise  was  over — the  crowd  dispersed  and  gone. 
Silence  and  sleep  had  resumed  their  ancient  empire. 
She  trod,  alone,  along  the  great  thoroughfare  of  the 
town.  A  single  dog  ran  at  her  heels,  baying  at  inter- 
vals ;  but  him  she  hushed  with  a  word  of  unconscious 
soothing — ignorant  when  she  uttered  it.  There  were 
burning  feelings  in  her  bosom,  at  variance  with  reason 
— at  variance  with  the  limited  duty  which  she  owed 
to  society — at  variance  with  her  own  safety.  But 
what  of  these  1  There  is  a  holy  instinct  that  helps 
us,  sometimes,  in  the  face  of  our  common  standards. 
Humanity  is  earlier  in  its  origin,  and  holier  in  its  claims 
than  society.  She  felt  the  one,  and  forgot  to  obey  the 
other. 

She  went  forward,  and  the  prison-house  of  the  Eng- 
lishman, under  the  shelter  of  a  father-oak — the  growth 
of  a  silent  century — .rose  dimly  before  her.  Securely 
fastened  with  stout  thongs  on  the  outside,  the  door  was 
still  farther  guarded  by  a  couple  of  warriors  lying  upon 


86  THE    YEMASSEE. 

the  grass  before  it.  One  of  them  seemed  to  sleep 
soundly,  but  the  other  was  wakeful.  He  lay  at  length, 
however,  his  head  upraised,  and  resting  upon  one  ot 
his  palms — his  elbow  lifting  it  from  the  ground.  The 
other  hand  grasped  the  hatchet,  which  he  employed 
occasionally  in  chopping  the  earth  just  before  him 
He  was  musing  rather  than  meditative,  and  the  action 
of  his  hand  and  hatchet,  capricious  and  fitful,  indicated 
a  want  of  concentration  in  his  thought.  This  was  in 
her  favour.  Still  there  was  no  possibility  of  present 
approach  unperceived ;  and  to  succeed  in  a  determi 
nation  only  half-formed  in  her  bosom,  and  in  fact,  un 
designed  in  her  head,  the  gentle  but  fearless  woman 
had  resource  to  some  of  those  highly  ingenious  arts, 
so  well  known  to  che  savage,  and  which  he  borrows  in 
most  part  from  the  nature  around  him.  Receding, 
therefore,  to  a  little  distance,  she  carefully  sheltered 
herself  in  a  small  clustering  clump  of  bush  and  brush, 
at  a  convenient  distance  for  her  purpose,  and  proceeded 
more  definitely  to  the  adjustment  of  her  design. 

Meanwhile,  the  yet  wakeful  warrior  looked  round 
upon  his  comrade,  who  lay  in  a  deep  slumber  between 
himself  and  the  dungeon  entrance.  Fatigue  and  pre- 
vious watchfulness  had  done  their  work  with  the  veteran. 
The  watcher  himself  began  to  feel  these  influences 
stealing  upon  him,  though  not  in  the  same  degree, 
perhaps,  and  with  less  rapidity.  But,  as  he  looked 
around,  and  witnessed  the  general  silence,  his  ear 
detecting  with  difficulty  the  drowsy  motion  of  the 
zephyr  among  the  thick  branches  over  head,  as  if  that 
slept  also — his  own  drowsiness  crept  more  and  more 
upon  his  senses.  Nature  is  thronged  with  sympathies, 
and  the  undiseased  sense  finds  its  kindred  at  all  hours 
and  in  every  situation. 

Suddenly,  as  he  mused,  a  faint  chirp,  that  of  a  single 
cricket,  swelled  upon  his  ear  from  the  neighbouring 
grove.  He  answered  it,  for  great  were  his  imitative 
faculties.  He  answered  it,  and  from  an  occasional 
note,  it  broke  out  into  a  regular  succession  of  chirp- 
ings, sweetly  timed,  and  breaking  the  general  silence 


THE    YEMASSEE.  87 

of  the  night  with  an  effect  utterly  indescribable,  ex 
cept  to  watchers  blessed  With  a  quick  imagination. 
To  these,  still  musing  and  won  by  the  interruption,  he 
sent  back  a  similar  response  ;  and  his  attention  was 
suspended,  as  if  for  some  return.  But  the  chirping  died 
away  in  a  click  scarcely  perceptible.  It  was  succeeded 
after  a  brief  interval,  by  the  faint  note  of  a  mock-bird 
— a  sudden  note,  as  if  the  minstrel,  starting  from  sleep, 
had  sent  it  forth  unconsciously,  or,  in  a  dream,  had 
thus  given  utterance  to  some  sleepless  emotion.  It 
was  soft  and  gentle  as  the  breathings  of  a  flower 
Again  came  the  chirping  of  the  cricket — a  broken 
strain — capricious  in  time,  and  now  seeming  near  at 
hand,  now  remote  and  flying.  Then  rose  the  whiz- 
zing hum,  as  of  a  tribe  of  bees  suddenly  issuing  from 
the  hollow  of  some  neighbouring  tree ;  and  then,  the 
clear,  distinct  tap  of  the  woodpecker — once,  twice, 
and  thrice.  Silence,  then, — and  the  burden  of  the 
cricket  was  resumed,  at  the  moment  when  a  lazy  stir 
of  the  breeze  in  the  branches  above  him  seemed  to 
solicit  the  torpor  from  which  it  occasionally  started. 
Gradually,  the  successive  sounds,  so  natural  to  the 
situation,  and  so  grateful  and  congenial  to  the  ear  of 
the  hunter,  hummed  his  senses  into  slumber.  For  a 
moment,  his  eyes  were  half  re-opened,  and  he  looked 
round  vacantly  upon  the  woods,  and  upon  the  dying 
flame  of  the  scattered  torches — and  then  upon  his  fast 
sleeping  comrade.  The  prospect  gave  additional  stim- 
ulant to  the  dreamy  nature  of  the  influences  growing 
about  and  gathering  upon  him.  Finally,  the  trees  danced 
away  from  before  his  vision — the  clouds  came  down 
close  to  his  face  ;  and,  gently  accommodating  his  arm 
to  the  support  of  his  dizzy  and  sinking  head,  he  grad- 
ually and  unconsciously  sunk  beside  his  companion, 
and,  in  a  few  moments,  enjoyed  a  slumber  as  oblivious. 


THE    YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"  'Tis  freedom  that  she  brings  him,  but  the  pass 
Is  leaguered  he  must  'scape  through.    Foemen  watch, 
Ready  to  strike  the  hopeless  fugitive." 

With  the  repose  to  slumber  of  the  warrior — the 
cricket  and  the  bee,  the  mock-bird  and  the  woodpecker, 
at  once,  grew  silent.  A  few  moments  only  had  elapsed, 
when,  cautious  in  approach,  they  made  their  simultane- 
ous appearance  from  the  bush  in  the  person  of  Mati- 
wan.  It  was  her  skill  that  had  charmed  the  spirit  of 
the  watcher  into  sleep,  by  the  employment  of  asso- 
ciations so  admirably  adapted  to  the  spirit  of  the  scene. 
With  that  ingenuity  which  is  an  instinct  with  the 
Indians,  she  had  imitated,  one  after  another,  the  various 
agents,  whose  notes,  duly  timed,  had  first  won,  then 
soothed,  and  then  relaxed  and  quieted  the  senses  of 
the  prison-keeper.  She  had  rightly  judged  in  the  em- 
ployment of  her  several  arts.  The  gradual  beatitude 
of  mind  and  lassitude  of  body,  brought  about  with 
inevitable  certainty,  when  once  we  have  lulled  the 
guardian  watchers  of  the  animal,  must  always  precede 
their  complete  unconsciousness ;  and  the  art  of  the 
Indian,  in  this  way,  is  often  employed,  in  cases  of 
mental  excitation  and  disease,  with  a  like  object.  The 
knowledge  of  the  power  of  soothing,  sweet  sounds  over 
the  wandering  mind,  possessed,  as  the  Hebrew  strongly 
phrased  it,  of  devils,  was  not  confined  to  that  people, 
nor  to  the  melodious  ministerings  of  their  David. 
The  Indian  claims  for  it  a  still  greater  influence,  when, 
with  a  single  note,  he  bids  the  serpent  uncoil  from  his 
purpose,  and  wind  unharriiingly  away  from  the  bosom 
of  his  victim. 

She  emerged  from  her  place  of  concealment  with  a 
caution  which  marked  something  more  of  settled  pur- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  89 

pose  than  she  had  yet  exhibited.  She  approached  in 
the  dim,  flickering  light,  cast  from  the  decaying  torches 
which  lay  scattered  without  order  along  the  ground.  A 
few  paces  only  divided  her  from  the  watchers,  and  she 
continued  to  approach,  when  one  of  them  turned  with 
a  degree  of  restlessness,  which  led  her  to  apprehend 
that  he  had  awakened.  She  sunk  back  ldte  a  shadow, 
as  fleet  and  silently,  once  more  into  the  cover  of  the 
brush.  But  he  still  slept.  She  again  approached — and 
the  last  flare  of  the  torch  burning  most  brightly  before, 
quivered,  sent  up  a  little  gust  of  flame,  and  then  went 
out,  leaving  her  only  the  star-light  for  her  farther 
guidance.  This  light  was  imperfect,  as  the  place  of 
imprisonment  lay  under  a  thickly  branching  tree,  and 
her  progress  was  therefore  more  difficult.  But,  with 
added  difficulty,  to  the  strong  mood,  comes  added 
determination.  To  this  determination  the  mind  of 
Matiwan  brought  increased  caution ;  and  treading  with 
the  lightness  of  some  melancholy  ghost,  groping  at 
midnight  among  old  and  deserted  chambers  of  the 
heart,  the  Indian  woman  stepped  onward  to  her  pur- 
pose over  a  spot  as  silent,  if  not  so  desolate.  Carefully 
placing  her  feet  so  as  to  avoid  the  limbs  of  the  sleep- 
ing guard — who  lay  side  by  side  and  directly  across 
the  door-way — a  design  only  executed  with  great 
difficulty,  she  at  length  reached  the  door ;  and  drawing 
from  her  side  a  knife,  she  separated  the  thick  thongs 
of  skin  which  had  otherwise  well  secured  it.  In 
another  moment  she  was  in  the  centre  of  the  apart- 
ment and  in  the  presence  of  the  captive. 

He  lay  at  length,  though  not  asleep,  upon  the  damp 
floor  of  the  dungeon.  Full  of  melancholy  thought, 
and  almost  prostrate  with  despair,  his  mind  and 
imagination  continued  to  depict  before  his  eyes  the 
thousand  forms  of  horror  to  which  savage  cruelty  was 
probably,  at  that  very  moment,  subjecting  the  form 
most  dear  to  his  affections,  and  the  people  at  large, 
for  whose  lives  he  would  freely  have  given  up  his  own. 
He  saw  the  flames  of  their  desolation — he  heard  the 
cries   of  their  despair.     Their   blood   gushed    along 


90  THE    YEMA.SSEE. 

before  his  eyes,  in  streams  that  spoke  to  him  appeal- 
ingly,  at  least,  for  vengeance.  How  many  veins,  the 
dearest  in  his  worship,  had  been  drained  perchance 
to  give  volume  to  their  currents.  The  thought  was 
horrible,  the  picture  too  trying  and  too  terrible  for  the 
contemplation  of  a  spirit,  which,  fearless  and  firm, 
was  yet  gentle  and  affectionate.  He  covered  his  eyes 
with  his  extended  palms,  as  if  to  shut  from  his  physi- 
cal what  was  perceptible  only  to  his  mental  vision. 

A  gust  aroused  him.  The  person  of  Matiwan  was 
before  him,  a  dim  outline,  undistinguishable  in  feature 
by  his  darkened  and  disordered  sight.  Her  voice,  like 
a  murmuring  water  lapsing  away  among  the  rushes, 
fell  soothingly  upon  his  senses.  Herself  half  dream- 
ing— for  her  proceeding  had  been  a  matter  rather  of 
impulse  than  premeditation — the  single  word,  so  gently 
yet  so  clearly  articulated,  with  which  she  broke  in 
upon  the  melancholy  musings  of  the  captive,  and  first 
announced  her  presence,  proved  sufficiently  the  char- 
acteristic direction  of  her  own  maternal  spirit. 

"  Occonestoga !" 

"  Who  speaks  V '  was  the  reply  of  Harrison,  starting 
to  his  feet,  and  assuming  an  attitude  of  defiance  and 
readiness,  not  less  than  doubt ;  for  he  had  now  no 
thought  but  that  of  fight,  in  connexion  with  the  Ye- 
massees.     "  Who  speaks  V 

"  Ha  !"  and  in  the  exclamation,  we  see  the  restored 
consciousness  which  taught  her  that  not  Occonestoga, 
but  the  son  of  another  mother,  stood  before  her. 

"  Ha !  the  Coosah-moray-te  shall  go,"  she  said,  in 
broken  English. 

"  Who — what  is  this  ?"  responded  the  captive,  as  he 
felt  rather  than  understood  the  kindness  of  the  tones 
that  met  his  ear ;  and  he  now  more  closely  approached 
the  speaker. 

"  Hush," — she  placed  her  hand  upon  his  wrist,  and 
looked  to  the  door  with  an  air  of  anxiety — then  whus- 
peringly,  urged  him  to  caution. 

"Big  warriors — tomahawks — they  lie  in  the  grass 
for  the  English." 


THE    YEMASSEE.  91 

"And  who  art  thou, — woman  1  Is  it  freedom— life  ? 
cut  the  cords,  quick,  quick — let  me  feel  my  liberty." 
And  as  she  busied  herself  in  cutting  the  sinews  that 
tightly  secured  his  wrists,  he  scarcely  forbore  his  show 
of  impatience. 

"  I  am  free — I  am  free.  I  thank  thee,  God — great, 
good  Father,  this  is  thy  providence  !  I  thank — I  praise 
thee  !  And  thou — who  art  thou,  my  preserver — but 
wherefore  ask  1 .    Thou  art — " 

"  It  is  Matiwan  !"  she  said  humbly. 

"  The  wife  of  Sanutee — how  shall  I  thank — how 
reward  thee,  Matiwan !"  ' 

"  Matiwan  is  the  woman  of  the  great  chief,  Sanutee 
—  she  makes  free  the  English,  that  has  a  look  and  a 
tongue  like  the  boy  Occonestoga." 

"  And  where  is  he,  Matiwan — where  is  the  young 
warrior  1  I  came  to  see  after  him,  and  it  is  this  brought 
me  into  my  present  difficulty." 

"  Take  the  knife,  English — take  the  knife.  Look  ! 
the  blood  is  on  the  hand  of  Matiwan.  It  is  the  blood 
of  the  boy." 

"  Woman,  thou  hast  not  slain  him — thou  hast  not 
slain  the  child  of  thy  bosom  !" 

"  Matiwan  saved  the  boy,"  she  said  proudly. 

"  Then  he  lives." 

"  In  the  blessed  valley  with  the  Manneyto.  He  will 
build  a  great  lodge  for  Matiwan." 

"  Give  me  the  knife." 

He  took  it  hurriedly  from  her  grasp,  supposing 
her  delirious,  and  failing  utterly  to  comprehend  the 
seeming  contradiction  in  her  language.  She  handed 
it  to  him  with  a  shiver  as  she  gave  it  up  ;  then,  telling 
him  to  follow,  and  at  the  same  time  pressing  her  hand 
upon  his  arm  by  way  of  caution,  she  led  the  way  to 
the  entrance,  which  she  had  carefully  closed  after  her 
on  first  entering.  With  as  much,  if  not  more  caution 
than  before,  slowly  unclosing  it,  she  showed  him,  in 
•the  dim  light  of  the  stars,  the  extended  forms  of  the 
two  keepers.  They  still  slept,  but  not  soundly  ;  and 
in  the  momentary  glance  which  she  required  the 
27 


92  THE    YEMASSEE. 

captive  to  take,  with  all  Indian  deliberateness,  she 
seemed  desirous  of  familiarizing  his  glance  with  the 
condition  of  the  scene,  and  with  all  those  difficulties 
in  the  aspect  of  surrounding  objects  with  which  he 
was  probably  destined  to  contend.  With  the  strong 
excitement  of  renewed  hope,  coupled  with  his  con- 
sciousness of  freedom,  Harrison  would  have  leaped 
forward ;  but  she  restrained  him,  and  just  at  that 
moment,  a  sudden,  restless  movement  of  one  of  the 
sleepers  warned  them  to  be  heedful.  Quick  as  thought, 
in  that  motion,  Matiwan  sunk  back  into  the  shadow 
of  the  dungeon,  closing  the  door  with  the  same  im- 
pulse. Pausing,  for  a  few  moments,  until  the  renewed 
and  deep  breathings  from  without  reassured  her,  she 
then  again  led  the  way ;  but,  as  she  half  opened  the 
door,  turning  quietly,  she  said  in  a  whisper  to  the  im- 
patient Harrison, 

"  The  chief  of  the  English — the  pale  mother  loves 
him  over  the  water  ?" 

"  She  does,  Matiwan — she  loves  him  very  much." 

"And  the  chief — he  keeps  her  here — "  pointing  to 
her  heart. 

"  Always — deeply.     I  love  her  too,  very  much." 

"  It  is  good.  The  chief  will  go  on  the  waters — he 
will  go  to  the  mother  that  loves  him.  She  will  sing 
like  a  green  bird  for  him,  when  the  young  corn  comes 
out  of  the  ground.  So  Matiwan  sings  for  Occonestoga. 
Go,  English — but  look  ! — for  the  arrow  of  Yemassee 
runs  along  the  path." 

He  pressed  her  hand  warmly,  but  his  lips  refused  all 
other  acknowledgment.  A  deep  sigh  attested  her  own 
share  of  feeling  in  those  references  which  she  had 
made  to  the  son  in  connexion  with  the  mother.  Then, 
once  more  unclosing  the  entrance,  she  stepped  fear- 
lessly and  successfully  over  the  two  sleeping  sentinels. 

He  followed  her,  but  with  less  good  fortune.  Wheth- 
er it  was  that  he  saw  not  distinctly  in  that  unaccustomed 
light,  and  brushed  one  of  the  men  with  his  foot,  or  wheth- 
er he  had  been  restless  before,  and  only  in  an  imperfect 
slumber  just  then  broken,  may  not  now  be  said  ;  but  at 


THE    YEMASSEE.  93 

that  inauspicious  moment  he  awakened.  With  wa- 
king comes  instant  consciousness  to  the  Indian,  who 
differs  in  this  particular  widely  from  the  negro.  He 
knew  his  prisoner  at  a  glance,  and  grappled  him,  as  he 
lay,  by  the  leg.  Harrison,  with  an  instinct  quite  as 
ready,  dashed  his  unobstructed  heel  into  the  face  of  the 
warrior,  and  though  released,  would  have  followed  up 
his  blow  by  a  stroke  from  his  uplifted  and  bared  knife  ; 
but  his  arm  was  held  back  by  Matiwan.  Her  instinct 
was  gentler  and  wiser.  In  broken  English,  she  bade 
him  fly  for  his  life.  His  own  sense  taught  him  in  an 
instant  the  propriety  of  this  course,  and  before  the 
aroused  Indian  could  recover  from  the  blow  of  his 
heel,  and  while  he  strove  to  waken  his  comrade,  the 
Englishman  bounded  down,  with  a  desperate  speed, 
along  the  great  thoroughfare  leading  to  the  river. 
The  warriors  were  soon  at  his  heels,  but  the  generous 
mood  of  Matiwan  did  not  rest  with  what  she  had 
already  done.  She  threw  herself  in  their  way,  and 
thus  gained  him  some  little  additional  time.  But  they 
soon  put  her  aside,  and  their  quick  tread  in  the  path- 
way taken  by  the  fugitive  warned  him  to  the  exercise 
of  all  his  efforts.  At  the  same  time  he  coolly  calcu- 
lated his  course  and  its  chances.  As  he  thought  thus 
he  clutched  the  knife  given  him  by  Matiwan,  with  an 
emotion  of  confidence  which  the  warrior  must  always 
feel,  having  his  limbs,  and  grasping  a  weapon  with 
which  his  hand  has  been  familiar.  "At  least,"  thougl 
he,  fiercely, — "  they  must  battle  for  the  life  they  take. 
They  gain  no  easy  prey."  Thus  did  he  console  him- 
self; in  his  flight  with  his  pursuers  hard  behind  him. 
In  his  confidence  he  gained  new  strength ;  and  thus 
the  well-exercised  mind  gives  strength  to  the  body 
which  it  informs.  Harrison  was  swift  of  foot,  also,-^ 
few  of  the  whites  were  better  practised  or  more  ad- 
mirably formed  for  the  events  and  necessities  of  forest 
life.  But  the  Indian  has  a  constant  exercise  which 
makes  him  a  prodigy  in  the  use  of  his  legs.  In  a 
journey  of  day  after  day,  he  can  easily  outwind  any 
horse.     Harrison  knew  this, — but  then  he  thought  of 


94  THE    YEMASSEE. 

his  knife.  They  gained  upon  him,  and,  as  he  clutched 
the  weapon  firmly  in  his  grasp,  his  teeth  grew  tightly 
fixed,  and  he  began  to  feel  the  rapturous  delirium 
which  prefaces  the  desire  for  the  strife.  Still  the 
river  was  not  far  off,  and  though  galled  at  the  necessity 
of  flight,  he  yet  felt  what  was  due  to  his  people,  at 
that  very  moment,  most  probably,  under  the  stroke  of 
their  savage  butchery.  He  had  no  time  for  individual 
conflict,  in  which  nothing  might  be  done  for  them. 
The  fresh  breeze  now  swelled  up  from  the  river,  and 
re-encouraged  him. 

"  Could  I  gain  that,"  he  muttered  to  himself, — 
"  could  I  gain  that,  1  were  safe.  Of  God's  surety,  I  may." 

A  look  over  his  shoulder,  and  a  new  start.  They 
were  behind  him,  but  not  so  close  as  he  had  thought. 
Coolly  enough  he  bounded  on,  thinking  aloud  : — 

"  They  cannot  touch,  but  they  may  shoot.  Well — 
if  they  do,  they  must  stop,  and  a  few  seconds  more 
will  give  me  a  cover  in  the  waters.  Let  them  shoot — 
let  them  shoot.  The  arrow  is  better  than  the  stake  ;" 
and  thus  muttering  to  himself,  but  in  tones  almost  au- 
dible to  his  enemies,  he  kept  his  way  with  a  heart 
somewhat  lighter  from  his  momentary  effort  at  philos- 
ophy. He  did  not  perceive  that  his  pursuers  had 
with  them  no  weapon  but  the  tomahawk,  or  his  conso- 
lations might  have  been  more  satisfactory. 

In  another  moment  he  was  upon  the  banks  of  the 
river;  and  there, '  propitiously  enough,  a  few  paces 
from  the  shore,  lay  a  canoe  tied  to  a  pole  that  stood 
upright  in  the  stream.  He  blessed  his  stars  as  he 
beheld  it,  and  pausing  not  to  doubt  whether  a  paddle 
lay  in  its  bottom  or  not,  he  plunged  incontinently  for- 
ward, wading  almost  to  his  middle  before  he  reached 
it.  He  was  soon  snug  enough  in  its  bottom,  and  had 
succeeded  in  cutting  the  thong  with  his  knife  when 
the  Indians  appeared  upon  the  bank.  Dreading  their 
arrows,  for  the  broad  glare  of  the  now  rising  moon 
gave  them  sufficient  light  for  their  use  had  they  been 
provided  with  them,  he  stretched  himself  at  length 
along  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  and  left  it  to  the  current, 


THE    YEMASSEE,  95 

which  set  strongly  downward.  But  a  sudden  plunge 
into  the  water  of  one  and  then  the  other  of  his  pursuers, 
left  him  without  the  hope  of  getting  off  so  easily.  The 
danger  came  in  a  new  shape,  and  he  promptly  rose  to 
meet  it.  Placing  himself  in  a  position  which  would 
enable  him  to  turn  readily  upon  any  point  which  they 
might  assail,  he  prepared  for  the  encounter.  One  of 
the  warriors  was  close  upon  him — swimming  lustily, 
and  carrying  his  tomahawk  grasped  by  the  handle  in 
his  teeth.  The  other  came  at  a  little  distance,  and 
promised  soon  to  be  up  with  him.  The  first  pursuer 
at  length  struck  the  canoe,  raised  himself  sufficiently 
on  the  water  for  that  purpose,  and  his  left  hand  grasped 
one  of  the  sides,  while  the  right  prepared  to  take  the 
hatchet  from  his  jaws.  But  with  the  seizure  of  the 
boat  by  his  foe  came  the  stroke  of  Harrison.  His 
knife  drove  half  through  the  hand  of  the  Indian,  who 
released  his  grasp  with  a  howl  that  made  his  com- 
panion hesitate.  Just  at  that  instant  a  third  plunge 
into  the  water,  as  of  some  prodigious  body,  called  for  the 
attention  of  all  parties  anew.  The  pursuers  now  be- 
came the  fugitives,  as  their  quick  senses  perceived  a 
new  and  dangerous  enemy  in  the  black  mass  surging 
toward  them,  with  a  power  and  rapidity  which  taught 
them  the  necessity  of  instant  flight,  and  with  no  half 
effort.  They  well  knew  the  fierce  appetite  and  the 
tremendous  jaws  of  the  native  alligator,  the  American 
crocodile, — one  of  the  largest  of  which  now  came 
looming  toward  them.  Self-preservation  was  the 
word.  The  captive  was  forgotten  altogether  in  their 
own  danger  ;  and  swimming  with  all  their  strength,  and 
with  all  their  skill,  in  a  zigzag  manner,  so  as  to  compel 
their  unwieldy  pursuer  to  make  frequent  and  sudden 
turns  in  the  chase,  occasionally  pausing  to  splash  the 
water  with  as  much  noise  as  possible — a  practice 
known  to  discourage  his  approach  when  not  over-hun- 
gry— they  contrived  to  baffle  his  pursuit,  and  half 
exhausted,  the  two  warriors  reached  and  clambered  up 
the  banks,  just  as  their  ferocious  pursuer,  close  upon 
their  heels,  had  opened  his  tremendous  iaws,  with  an 
27* 


9&  THE    YEMASSEE. 

awful  compass,  ready  to  ingulf  them.  They  were 
safe,  though  actually  pursued  even  upon  the  shore  for  a 
brief  distance  by  the  voracious  and  possibly  half-starved 
monster.  But  so  was  he  safe — their  captive.  Paddling 
as  well  as  he  could  with  a  broken  flap-oar  lying  in  the 
bottom  of  the  boat,  he  shaped  his  course  to  strike  at  a 
po'nt  as  far  down  the  river  as  possible,  without  nearing 
the  pirate  craft  of  Chorley.  In  an  hour,  which  seemet 
to  him  an  age,  he  reached  the  opposite  shore,  a  few 
miles  from  the  Block  House,  not  much  fatigued,  and 
so  far  in  perfect  safety. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"  'Tis  an  unruly  mood,  that  will  not  hear, 
In  reason's  spite,  the  honest  word  of  truth — 
Such  mood  will  have  its  punishment,  and  time 
Is  never  slow  to  bring  it.    It  will  come." 

Let  us  somewhat  retrace  our  steps,  and  go  back  to 
the  time,  when,  made  a  prisoner  in  the  camp  of  the 
Yemassees,  Harrison  was  borne  away  to  Pocota-ligo, 
a  destined  victim  for  the  sacrifice  to  their  god  of  vic- 
tory. Having  left  him,  as  they  thought,  secure,  the 
war-party,  consisting,  as  already  described,  of  detach- 
ments from  a  number  of  independent,  though  neighbour- 
ing nations,  proceeded  to  scatter  themselves  over  the 
country.  In  small  bodies,  they  ran  from  dwelling  to 
dwelling  with  the  utmost  rapidity — in  this  manner,  by 
simultaneous  attacks,  everywhere  preventing  anything 
like  union  or  organization  among  the  borderers.  One 
or  two  larger  parties  were  designed  for  higher  enter- 
prises, and  without  permitting  themselves  to  be  drawn 
aside  to  these  smaller  matters,  pursued  their  object 
with  Indian  inflexibility.  These  had  for  their  object 
the  surprise  of  the  towns  and  villages ;  and  so  great 
had  been  their  preparations,  so  well  conducted  their 


THE    YEMASSEE.  97 

whole  plan  of  warfare,  that  six  thousand  warriors  had 
been  thus  got  together,  and,  burning  and  slaying,  they 
had  made  their  way,  in  the  progress  of  this  insurrec- 
tion, to  the  very  gates  of  Charlestown — the  chief, 
indeed  the  only  town,  of  any  size  or  strength,  in  the 
colony.  But  this  belongs  not  to  the  narrative  imme- 
diately before  us. 

Two  parties  of  some  force  took  the  direction  given 
to  our  story,  and  making  their  way  along  the  river 
Pocota-ligo,  diverging  for  a  few  miles  on  the  European 
side,  had,  in  this  manner,  assailed  every  dwelling  and 
settlement  in  their  way  to  the  Block  House.  One  of 
these  parties  was  commanded  by  Chorley,  who,  in  ad- 
dition to  his  seamen,  was  intrusted  with  the  charge  of 
twenty  Indians.  Equally  savage  with  the  party  which 
he  commanded,  the  path  of  this  ruffian  was  traced  in 
blood.  He  offered  no  obstacle,  to  the  sanguinary  in- 
dulgence, on  the  part  of  the  Indians,  of  their  habitual 
fury  in  war ;  but  rather  stimulated  their  ferocity  by 
the  indulgence  of  his  own.  Unaccustomed,  however, 
to  a  march  through  the  forests,  the  progress  of  the 
seamen  was  not  so  rapid  as  that  of  the  other  party 
despatched  on  the  same  route  ;  and  many  of  the  dwel- 
lings, therefore,  had  been  surprised  and  sacked  some 
time  before  the  sailor  commander  could  make  his  ap- 
pearance. The  Indian  leader  who  went  before  him 
was  Ishiagaska,  one  of  the  most  renowned  warriors  of 
the  nation.  He,  indeed,  was  one  of  those  who,  ma- 
king a  journey  to  St.  Augustine,  had  first  been  seduced 
by  the  persuasions  of  the  Spanish  governor  of  that 
station — a  station  denounced  by  the  early  Carolinians, 
from  the  perpetual  forays  upon  their  borders,  by  land 
and  sea,  issuing  from  that  quarter — as  another  Sallee. 
He  had  sworn  fidelity  to  the  King  of  Spain  while 
there,  and  from  that  point  had  been  persuaded  to  visit 
the  neighbouring  tribes  of  the  Creek,  Apalatchie, 
Euchee,  and  Cherokee  Indians,  with  the  war-belt,  and 
a  proposition  of  a  common  league  against  the  English 
settlements — a  proposition  greedily  accepted,  when 
coming  with  innumerable  presents  of  hatchets,  knives, 

Vol.  II 


98  THE    YEMASSEE. 

nails,  and  gaudy  dresses,  furnished  by  the  Spaniards, 
who  well  knew  how  to  tempt  and  work  upon  the  appe- 
tites and  imagination  of  the  savages.  Laden  with 
similar  presents,  the  chief  had  returned  home,  and  with 
successful  industry  had  succeeded,  as  we  have  seen, 
aided  by  Sanutee,  in  bringing  many  of  his  people  to  a 
similar  way  of  thinking  with  himself.  The  frequent 
aggressions  of  the  whites,  the  cheats  practised  by  some 
of  their  traders,  and  other  circumstances,  had  strongly 
co-operated  to  the  desired  end;  and  with  his  desire 
satisfied,  Ishiagaska  now  headed  one  of  the  parties 
destined  to  carry  the  war  to  Port  Royal  Island,  sweep- 
ing the  track  of  the  Pocota-ligo  settlements  in  his 
progress,  and  at  length  uniting  with  the  main  party  of 
Sanutee  before  Charlestown. 

He  was  not  slow  in  the  performance  of  his  mission  ; 
but,  fortunately  for  the  English,  warned  by  the  counsels 
of  Harrison,  the  greater  number  had  taken  timely 
shelter  in  the  Block  House,  and  left  but  their  empty 
dwellings  to  the  fury  of  their  invaders.  Still,  there 
were  many  not  so  fortunate  ;  and  plying  their  way 
from  house  to  house  in  their  progress,  with  all  the 
stealth  and  silence  of  the  cat,  the  Indians  drove  their 
tomahawk  into  many  of  the  defenceless  cotters  who 
came  imprudently  to  the  door  in  recognition  of  the 
conciliating  demand  which  they  made  for  admission. 
Once  in  possession,  their  aim  was  indiscriminate 
slaughter,  and  one  bed  of  death  not  unfrequently  com- 
prised the  forms  of  an  entire  family — husband,  wife, 
and  children.  Sometimes  they  fired  the  dwelling  into 
which  caution  denied  them  entrance,  and  as  the  inmates 
fled  from  the  flames,  stood  in  watch  and  shot  them  down 
with  their  arrows.  In  this  way,  sparing  none,  whether 
young  or  old,  male  or  female,  the  band  led  on  by  Ishia- 
gaska appeared  at  length  at  the  dwelling  of  the  pastor. 
Relying  upon  his  reputation  with  the  Indians,  and  indeed 
unapprehensive  of  any  commotion,  for  he  knew  nothing 
of  their  arts  of  deception,  we  have  seen  him  steadily 
skeptical,  and  almost  rudely  indifferent  to  the  advice 
of  Harrison.     Regarding  the  cavalier  in  a  light  some- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  99 

what  equivocal,  it  is  more  than  probable  that  the 
source  of  the  counsel  was  indeed  the  chief  obstacle, 
with  him,  in  the  way  of  its  adoption.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  he  stubbornly  held  out  in  his  determination  to 
abide  where  he  was,  though  somewhat  staggered  in 
his  confidence,  when,  in  their  flight  from  their  own 
more  exposed  situation  to  the  shelter  of  the  Block 
House,  under  Harrison's  counsel,  the  old  dame  Gray- 
son, with  her  elder  son,  stopped  at  his  dwelling.  He 
assisted  the  ancient  lady  to  alight  from  her  horse,  and 
helped  her  into  the  house  for  refreshments,  while  her 
son  busied  himself  with  the  animal. 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter,  dame  ?  What  brings  you 
forth  at  this  late  season  ?  To  my  mind,  at  your  time 
of  life,  the  bed  would  be  the  best  place,  certainly," 
was  the  address  of  the  pastor  as  he  handed  her  some 
refreshment. 

"  Oh,  sure,  parson,  and  it's  a  hard  thing  for  such  as 
me  to  be  riding  about  the  country  on  horseback  at  any 
time,  much  less  at  night — though  to  be  sure  Watty 
kept  close  to  the  bridle  of  the  creature,  which  you 
see  is  a  fine  one,  and  goes  like  a  cradle." 

"  Well,  but  what  brings  you  out  ? — you  have  not  told 
me  that,  yet.     Something  of  great  moment,  doubtless." 

"  What,  you  haven't  heard  ?  Hasn't  the  captain 
told  you  ?  Well,  that's  strange  !  I  thought  you'd  be 
one  of  the  first  to  hear  it  all, — seeing  that  all  say  he 
thinks  of  nobody  half  so  much  as  of  your  young  lady 
there.  Ah !  my  dear — well,  you  needn't  blush  now, 
nor  look  down,  for  he's  a  main  fine  fellow,  and  you 
couldn't  find  a  better  in  a  long  day's  journey." 

The  pastor  looked  grave,  while  the  old  dame,  whose 
tongue  always  received  a  new  impulse  when  she  met 
her  neighbours,  ran  on  in  the  most  annoying  manner. 
She  stopped  at  last,  and  though  very  readily  conjectur- 
ing now  the  occasion  of  her  flight,  he  did  not  conceive 
it  improper  to  renew  his  question. 

"Well,  as  I  said,  it's  all  owing,  to  the  captain's  ad- 
vice— Captain  Harrison,  you  know — a  sweet  gentle- 
man that,  as  ever  lived.     He  it  was — he  came  to  me 


100  THE    YEMASSEE. 

this  morning,  and  he  went  to  all  the  neighbours,  and 
looked  so  serious — you  know  he  don't  often  look  serious 
— but  he  looked  so  serious  as  he  told  us  all  about  the 
savages — the  Yemassees,  and  the  Coosaws — how  they 
were  thinking  to  rise  and  tomahawk  us  all  in  our  beds  ; 
and  then  he  offered  to  lend  me  his  horse,  seeing  I  had 
no  creature,  and  it  was  so  good  of  him — for  he  knew 
how  feeble  I  was,  and  his  animal  is  so  gentle  and  easy." 

"  And  so,  with  this  wild  story,  he  has  made  you 
travel  over  the  country  by  night,  when  you  should 
be  in  your  bed.  It  is  too  bad — this  young  man 
takes  quite  too  many  liberties." 

"  Why,  how  now,  parson — what's  the  to-do  betwixt 
you  and  the  captain  ?"  asked  the  old  lady  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"  None — nothing  of  any  moment,"  was  the  grave 
reply.  "I  only  think  that  he  is  amusing  himself  at 
our  expense,  with  a  levity  most  improper,  by  alarm- 
ing the  country." 

"  My  ! — and  you  think  the  Indians  don't  mean  to 
attack  and  tomahawk  us  in  our  beds  ?" 

"  That  is  my  opinion,  dame — I  see  no  reason  why 
they  should.  It  is  true,  they  have  had  some  difficulties 
with  the  traders  of  late,  but  they  have  been  civil  to  us. 
One  or  more  have  been  here  every  day  during  the 
last  week,  and  they  seemed  then  as  peaceably  disposed 
as  ever.  They  have  listened  with  much  patience  to 
my  poor  exhortations,  and,  I  natter  myself,  with  profit 
to  their  souls  and  understandings.  I  have  no  appre- 
hensions myself;  though,  had  it  been  left  to  Bess  and 
her  mother,  like  you,  we  should  have  been  all  riding 
through  the  woods  to  the  Block  House,  with  the  pleas- 
ure of  riding  back  in  the  morning." 

"  Bless  me  !  how  you  talk — well,  I  never  thought 
to  hear  so  badly  of  the  captain.  He  did  seem  so 
good  a  gentleman,  and  was  so  sweetly  spoken." 

"  Don't  mistake  me,  dame, — I  have  said  nothing  un- 
favourable to  the  character  of  the  gentleman — nothing 
bad  of  him.  I  know  little  about  him,  and  this  is  one 
chief  objection  which  I  entertain  to  a  greater  intimacy. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  101 

Another  objection  is  that  wild  and  indecorous  levity,  of 
which  he  never  seems  to  divest  himself,  and  which  I 
think  has  given  you  to-night  a  fatiguing  and  unneces- 
sary ramble." 

"  Well,  if  you  think  so,  I  don't  care  to  go  farther, 
for  I  don't  expect  to  be  at  all  comfortable  in  the  Block 
House.     So,  if  you  can  make  me  up  a  truck  here — " 

"  Surely,  dame, — Bess,  my  dear " 

But  the  proposed  arrangement  was  interrupted  by 
Walter  Grayson,  who  just  then  appeared,  and  who 
stoutly  protested  against  his  mother's  stopping  sbort  of 
the  original  place  of  destination.  The  elder  Grayson 
was  a  great  advocate  for  Captain  Harrison,  who  im- 
bodied  all  his  ideal  of  what  was  worthy  and  magnifi- 
cent, in  whom  his  faith  was  implicit — and  he  did 
not  scruple  to  dilate  with  praiseworthy  eloquence  upon 
the  scandal  of  such  a  proceeding  as  that  proposed. 

"  You  must  not  think  of  it,  mother.  How  will  it 
look  ?  Besides,  I'm  sure  the  captain  knows  what's 
right,  and  wouldn't  say  what  was  not  certain.  It's 
only  a  mile  and  a  bit — and  when  you  can  make  sure, 
you  must  not  stop  short." 

"  But,  Watty,  boy — the  parson  says  it's  only  the 
captain's  fun,  and  we'll  only  have  to  take  a  longer  ride 
in  the  morning  if  we  go  on  farther  to-night." 

The  son  looked  scowlingly  upon  the  pastor,  as  he 
responded :  — 

"  Well,  perhaps  the  parson  knows  better  than  any 
body  else  ;  but  give  me  the  opinion  of  those  whose  bu- 
siness it  is  to  know.  Now,  I  believe  in  the  captain 
whenever  fighting's  going  on,  and  I  believe  in  the  par- 
son whenever  preaching's  going  on— so  as  it's  fighting 
and  not.  preaching  now,  I  don't  care  who  knows  it,  but 
I  believe  in  the  captain,  and  I  won't  believe  in  the 
parson.  If  it  was  preaching  and  not  fighting,  the  parson 
should  be  my  man." 

"  Now,  Watty,  don't  be  disrespectful.  I'm  sure  the 
parson  must  be  right,  and  so  I  think  we  had  all  better 
stay  here  when  there's  no  use  in  going." 

"Well  now,  mother,  I'm  sure  the  parson's  wrong, 


102  THE    YEMASSEE. 

and  if  you  stay,  it  will  only  be  to  be  tomahawked  and 
scalped." 

"Why  alarm  your  mother  with  such  language,  young 
man  ?  You  are  deceived — the  Yemassees  were  never 
more  peaceable  than  they  are  at  present" — Matthews 
here  broke  in,  but  commanded  little  consideration  from 
the  son,  and  almost  provoked  a  harsh  retort : — 

"  I  say,  Parson  Matthews — one  man  knows  one  thing, 
and  another  man  another — but,  curse  me,  if  I  believe 
in  the  man  that  pretends  to  know  every  thing.  Now 
fighting's  the  business,  the  very  trade  as  I  may^ay  of 
Captain  Harrison,  of  the  Foresters,  and  I  can  tell  you, 
if  it  will  do  you  any  good  to  hear,  that  he  knows  better 
how  to  handle  these  red-skins  than  any  man  in  Gran- 
ville county,  let  the  other  man  come  from  whatever 
quarter  he  may.  Now  preaching's  your  trade,  though 
you  can't  do  much  at  it,  I  think ;  yet,  as  it  is  your  trade, 
nobody  has  a  right  to  meddle — it's  your  business,  not 
mine.  But,  I  say,  parson — I  don't  think  it  looks  alto- 
gether respectful  to  try  and  undo,  behind  his  back,  the 
trade  of  another  ;  and  I  think  it  little  better  than  back- 
biting for  any  one  to  speak  disreputably  of  the  captain, 
just  when  he's  gone  into  the  very  heart  of  the  nation, 
to  see  what  we  are  to  expect,  and  all  for  our  benefit." 

Grayson  was  mightily  indignant,  and  spoke  his  mind 
freely.  The  parson  frowned  and  winced  at  the  rather 
novel  and  nowise  sparing  commentary,  but  could  say 
nothing  precisely  to  the  point  beyond  what  he  had  said 
already.  Preaching,  and  not  fighting,  was  certainly 
his  profession  ;  and,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  the  previous 
labours  of  Harrison  among  the  Indians,  his  success, 
and  knowledge  of  their  habits  and  character,  justified 
the  degree  of  confidence  in  his  judgment,  upon  which 
Grayson  so  loudly  insisted,  and  which  old  Matthews 
so  sturdily  withheld.  A  new  speaker  now  came  for- 
ward, however,  in  the  person  of  Bess  Matthews,  who, 
without  the  slightest  shrinking,  advancing  from  the  side 
of  her  mother,  thus  addressed  the  last  speaker : — 

"  Where,  Master  Grayson,  did  you  say  Captain  Har- 
rison had  sone  ?" 


THE    YEMASSEE.  103 

"  Ah,  Miss  Betsey,  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  But  you 
may  well  ask,  for  it's  wonderful  to  me  how  any  body 
can  undervalue  a  noble  gentleman  just  at  the  very  time 
he's  doing  the  best,  and  risking  his  own  life  for  us  all. 
Who  knows  but  just  at  this  moment  the  Yemassees 
are  scalping  him  in  Pocota-ligo,  for  its  there  he  is  gone 
to  see  what  we  may  expect." 

"  You  do  not  speak  certainly,  Master  Grayson — it  is 
only  your  conjecture  ?"  was  her  inquiry,  while  the  lip 
of  the  maiden  trembled,  and  the  colour  fled  hurriedly 
from  her  cheek. 

"  Ay,  but  I  do,  Miss  Betsey,  for  I  put  him  across  the 
river  myself,  and  it  was  then  he  lent  me  the  horse  for 
mother.  Yes,  there  he  is,  and  nobody  knows  in  what 
difficulty — for  my  part,  I'm  vexed  to  the  soul  to  hear 
people  running  down  the  man  that's  doing  for  them 
what  they  can't  do  for  themselves,  and  all  only  for  the 
good-will  of  the  thing,  and  not  for  any  pay." 

"  Nobody  runs  down  your  friend,  Mr.  Grayson." 

"  Just  the  same  thing — but  you  may  talk  as  you  think 
proper ;  and  if  you  don't  choose  to  go,  you  may  stay. 
I  don't  want  to  have  any  of  mine  scalped,  and  so, 
mother,  let  us  be  off." 

The  old  woman  half  hesitated,  and  seemed  rather 
inclined  once  more  to  change  her  decision  and  go  with 
her  son,  but  happening  to  detect  a  smile  upon  the  lips 
of  the  pastor,  she  grew  more  obstinate  than  ever,  and 
peremptorily  declared  her  determination  to  stay  where 
she  was.  Grayson  seemed  perfectly  bewildered,  and 
knew  not  what  to  say.  What  he  did  say  seemed 
only  to  have  the  effect  of  making  her  more  dogged  in 
her  opposition  than  ever,  and  he  was  beginning  to  de- 
spair of  success,  when  an  influential  auxiliary  appeared 
in  the  person  of  his  younger  brother.  To  him  the  elder 
instantly  appealed,  and  a  close  observer  might  have 
detected  another  change  in  the  countenance  of  the  old 
dame  at  the  approach  of  her  younger  son.  The  fea- 
tures grew  more  feminine,  and  there  was  an  expression 
of  conscious  dependance  in  the  lines  of  her  cheek  and 
the  half  parted  lips,  which  necessarily  grew  out  of  the 
28 


104  THE    VEMASSEE. 

greater  love  which  she  bore  to  the  one  over  the  other 
child. 

"And  what  do  you  say,  Hughey,  my  son?"  inquired 
the  old  dame,  affectionately. 

"What  have  I  said,  mother  ?"  was  the  brief  response. 

"  And  we  must  go  to  the  Block  House,  Hughey  V 

"  Did  we  not  set  out  to  go  there  V 

"  But  the  parson  thinks  there  is  no  danger,  Hughey." 

"  That  is,  doubtless,  what  he  thinks.  There  are 
others  having  quite  as  much  experience,  who  think 
there  is  danger,  and  as  you  have  come  so  far,  it  will 
not  be  much  additional  trouble  to  go  farther  and  to  a 
place  of  safety.  Remember  my  father — he  thought 
there  was  no  danger,  and  he  was  scalped  for  it." 

The  young  man  spoke  gravely  and  without  hesitation, 
but  with  a  manner  the  most  respectful.  His  words 
were  conclusive  with  his  mother,  whose  jewel  he  un- 
questionably was,  and  his  last  reference  was  unneces- 
sary. Drawing  the  strings  of  her  hat,  with  a  half 
suppressed  sigh,  she  prepared  to  leave  a  circle  some- 
what larger  and  consequently  somewhat  more  cheerful 
than  that  to  which  she  had  been  accustomed.  In  the 
meantime,  a  little  by-play  had  been  going  on  between 
the  elder  brother  and  Bess  Matthews,  whose  appre- 
hensions, but  poorly  concealed,  had  been  brought  into 
acute  activity  on  hearing  of  the  precarious  adventure 
which  her  lover  had  undertaken.  This  dialogue, 
however,  was  soon  broken  by  the  departure  of  Dame 
Grayson,  attended  by  her  elder  son,  the  younger  re- 
maining behind,  much  against  the  desire  of  the  anxious 
mother,  though  promising  soon  to  follow.  Their  de- 
parture was  succeeded  by  a  few  moments  of  profound 
and  somewhat  painful  silence,  for  which  each  of  the 
parties  had  a  particular  reason.  The  pastor,  though 
obstinately  bent  not  to  take  the  counsel  given  by  Har- 
rison, was  yet  not  entirely  satisfied  with  his  deter- 
mination ;  and  the  probability  is,  that  a  single  cir- 
cumstance occurring  at  that  time,  so  as  to  furnish  a 
corresponding  authority  from  another,  might  have 
brought  about  a  change  in  his  decision.     His  lady  was 


THE     VEMASSEE.  105 

a  taciturn  body,  who  said  little  then,  but  looked  much 
discontent ;  and  Bess,  who  was  too  much  absorbed 
with  the  voluntary  exposure  of  her  lover  to  the  ferocity 
of  those  whom  he  esteemed  enemies,  kept  her  thoughts 
entirely  from  the  subject  of  their  late  discussion. 
Young  Grayson,  too,  had  his  peculiar  cause  of  disquiet, 
and,  with  a  warm  passion,  active  yet  denied,  in  his 
heart — and  a  fierce  mood  for  ambition,  kept  within 
those  limits  which  prescription  and  social  artifice  so 
frequently  wind,  as  with  the  coil  of  the  constrictor, 
around  the  lofty  mind  and  the  upsoaring  spirit,  keeping 
it  down  to  earth,  and  chaining  it  in  a  bondage  as  de- 
grading as  it  is  unnatural — he  felt  in  no  humour  to  break 
through  the  restraints  which  fettered  the  goodly  com- 
pany about  him.  Still,  the  effort  seemed  properly 
demanded  of  him,  and  referring  to  the  common  move- 
ment, he  commenced  the  conversation  by  regretting, 
with  a  commonplace  phraseology,  the  prospect  held 
forth,  so  injurious  to  the  settlement  oy  any  ap- 
proaching tumult  among  the  Indians.  The  old  pastor 
fortified  his  decision  not  to  remove,  by  repeating  his 
old  confidence  in  their  quiet : — 

"  The  Indians,"  said  he,  "  have  been  and  are  quiet 
enough.  We  have  no  reason  to  anticipate  assault  now. 
It  is  true,  they  have  the  feelings  of  men,  and  as  they 
have  been  injured  by  some  of  our  traders,  and  perhaps 
by  some  of  our  borderers,  they  may  have  cause  of 
complaint,  and  a  few  of  them  may  even  be  desirous 
of  revenge.  This  is  but  natural.  But,  if  this  were 
the  general  feeling,  we  should  have  seen  its  proofs 
before  now.  They  would  seek  it  in  individual  enter- 
prises, and  would  strike  and  slay  those  who  wronged 
them.  Generally  speaking,  they  have  nothing  to  com- 
plain of;  for,  since  that  excellent  man,  Charles  Craven, 
has  been  governor,  he  has  been  their  friend,  even  in 
spite  of  the  assembly,  who,  to  say  truth,  have  been  no- 
wise sparing  of  injustice  wherever  the  savage  has  been 
concerned.  Again,  I  say,  I  see  not  why  we  should 
apprehend  danger  from  the  Yemassees  at  this  moment." 

As  if  himself  satisfied  with  the  force  of  what  he  had 


106  THE    YEMASSEE. 

said,  the  pastor  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair,  and 
closed  his  eyes  and  crossed  his  hands  in  that  stashed 
and  canting  manner,  quite  too  common  among  a  class 
of  professional  worshippers,  and  in  which  self-com- 
plaisance makes  up  quite  as  much  of  the  feature  as 
sincerity  of  devotion.     Grayson  replied  briefly  : — 

"  Yet  there  are  some  evidences  which  should  not 
be  disregarded.  Sanutee,  notoriously  friendly  as  he 
has  been  to  us,  no  longer  visits  us — he  keeps  carefully 
away,  and  when  seen,  his  manner  is  restrained,  and 
his  language  any  thing  but  cordial.  Ishiagaska,  too, 
has  been  to  St.  Augustine,  brought  home  large  presents 
for  himself  and  other  of  the  chiefs,  and  has  paid  a  visit 
to  the  Creeks,  the  Apalatchies,  and  other  tribes — 
besides  bringing  home  with  him  Chigilli,  the  celebrated 
Creek  war-chief,  who  has  been  among  the  Yemassees 
ever  since.  Now,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  there  is  much 
that  calls  for  attention  in  the  simple  intercourse  of 
foes  so  inveterate  hitherto  as  the  Spaniards  and  Ye- 
massees. Greater  foes  have  not  often  been  known, 
and  this  new  friendship  is  therefore  the  more  remark- 
able ;  conclusive,  indeed,  when  we  consider  the  cold- 
ness of  the  Yemassees  toward  us  just  as  they  have 
contracted  this  new  acquaintance  ;  the  fury  with  which 
they  revolutionized  the  nation,  upon  the  late  treaty  for 
their  lands,  and  the  great  difficulty  which  Sanutee  had 
in  restraining  them  from  putting  our  commissioners  to 
death." 

"  Ah,  that  was  a  bad  business,  but  the  fault  was  on 
our  side.  Our  assembly  would  inveigle  with  the 
young  chiefs,  and  bribe  them  against  the  will  of  the 
old,  though  Governor  Craven  told  them  what  they 
might  expect,  and  warned  them  against  the  measure. 
I  have  seen  his  fine  letter  to  the  assembly  on  that  very 
point."  , 

"  We  differ,  Mr.  Matthews,  about  the  propriety  of 
the  measure,  for  it  is  utterly  impossible  that  the  whites 
and  Indians  should  ever  live  together  and  agree.  The 
nature  of  things  is  against  it,  and  the  very  difference 
between  the  two,  that  of  colour,  perceptible  to  our 


THE    YEMASSEE.  107 

most  ready  sentinel,  the  sight,  must  always  constitute 
them  an  inferior  caste  in  our  minds.  Apart  from  this, 
an  obvious  superiority  in  arts  and  education  must  soon 
force  upon  them  the  consciousness  of  their  inferiority. 
When  this  relationship  is  considered,  in  connexion 
with  the  uncertainty  of  their  resources  and  means  of 
life,  it  will  be  seen  that,  after  a  while,  they  must  not 
only  be  inferior,  but  they  must  become  dependant. 
When  this  happens,  and  it  will  happen  with  the  dimi- 
nution of  their  hunting  lands,  circumscribed,  daily, 
more  and  more,  as  they  are  by  our  approaches,  they 
must  become  degraded  and  sink  into  slavery  and  des- 
titution. A  few  of  them  have  become  so  now,  and 
one  chief  cause  of  complaint  among  the  Yemassees, 
is  the  employment  by  our  people  of  several  of  their 
warriors  to  carry  messages  and  hunt  our  runaway 
slaves — both  of  them  employments,  which  their  own 
sense  readily  informs  them,  are  necessarily  degrading 
to  their  character,  and  calculated  to  make  them  a  na- 
tion of  mercenaries.  To  my  mind,  the  best  thing  we 
can  do  for  them  is  to  send  them  as  far  as  possible  from 
contact  with  our  people." 

"What!  and  deny  them  all  the  benefits  of  our 
blessed  religion  ?" 

"  By  no  means,  sir.  The  old  apostles  would  have 
gone  along  with,  or  after  them.  Unless  the  vocation 
of  the  preacher  be  very  much  changed  in  times  pres- 
ent from  times  past,  they  will  not,  therefore,  be  denied 
any  of  the  benefits  of  religious  education." 

The  answer  somewhat  silenced  the  direction  of  our 
pastor's  discourse,  who,  though  a  very  well  meaning, 
was  yet  a  very  sleek  and  highly  providential  person ; 
and,  while  his  wits  furnished  no  ready  answer  to  this 
suggestion,  he  was  yet  not  prepared  himself  for  an 
utter  remove  from  all  contact  with  civilization,  and  the 
good  things  known  to  the  economy  of  a  Christian 
kitchen.  As  he  said  nothing  in  reply,  Grayson  pro- 
ceeded thus :  — 

"  There  is  yet  another  circumstance  upon  which 
I  have  made  no  remark,  yet  which  seems  important 
28* 


108  THE    YE1MASSEE. 

at  this  moment  of  doubt,  and  possibly  of  danger.  This 
guarda  costa,  lying  in  the  river  for  so  many  days, 
without  any  intercourse  with  our  people,  and  seem- 
ingly with  no  object,  is  at  least  singular.  She  is  evi- 
dently Spanish  ;  and  the  report  is,  that  on  her  way,  she 
was  seen  to  put  into  every  inlet  along  the  coast — every 
bay  and  creek  along  the  rivers — and  here  we  find  her, 
not  coming  to  the  shore,  but  moored  in  the  stream, 
ready  to  cut  cable  and  run  at  a  moment.  What  can  be 
her  object?" 

"You  have  been  at  some  pains,  Master  Hugh 
Grayson,  I  see,  to  get  evidence  ;  but  so  far  as  this  vessel 
or  guarda  costa  is  concerned,  I  think  I  may  venture 
to  say  she  is  harmless.  As  to  her  putting  into  this 
creek  or  that,  I  can  say  nothing — she  may  have  done 
so,  and  it  is  very  probable,  for  she  comes  especially 
to  get  furs  and  skins  from  the  Indians.  I  know  her 
captain — at  least  I  knew  him  when  a  boy — a  wild 
youth  from  my  own  county — who  took  to  the  sea  for  the 
mere  love  of  roving.  He  was  wild,  and  perhaps  a 
little  vicious,  when  young,  and  may  be  so  now  ;  but  I 
have  his  own  word  that  his  object  is  trade  with  the 
Indians  for  furs  and  skins,  as  I  have  told  you." 

"And  why  not  with  the  whites  for  furs  and  skins? 
No,  sir !  He  needs  no  furs,  and  of  this  I  have  evi- 
dence enough.  I  had  a  fine  parcel,  which  I  preferred 
rather  to  sell  on  the  spot  than  send  to  Charlestown, 
but  he  refused  to  buy  from  me  on  the  most  idle  pre- 
tence. This,  more  than  any  thing  else,  makes  me 
doubt ;  and,  in  his  refusal,  I  feel  assured  there  is  more 
than  we  know  of.  Like  yourself,  I  have  been  slow  to 
give  ear  to  these  apprehensions,  yet  they  have  forced 
themselves  upon  me,  and  precaution  is  surely  better, 
even  though  at  some  trouble,  when  safety  is  the  object. 
My  brother,  from  whom  I  have  several  facts  of  this 
kind  within  the  last  hour,  is  himself  acquainted  with 
much  in  the  conduct  of  the  Indians,  calculated  to 
create  suspicion,  and  from  Captain  Harrison  he  gets 
the  rest." 

"  Ay,  Harrison  again — no  evidence  is  good  without 


THE    VEMASSEE.  109 

him.  He  is  everywhere,  and  with  him  a  good  jest  is 
authority  enough  at  any  time." 

"  I  love  him  not,  sir,  any  more  than  yourself,"  said 
Grayson,  gloomily ;  "  but  there  is  reason  in  what  he 
tells  us  now." 

"  Father !"  said  Bess,  coming  forward,  and  putting 
her  hand  tenderly  on  the  old  man's  shoulder — "  hear 
to  Master  Grayson — he  speaks  for  the  best.  Let  us 
go  to  the  Block,  only  for  the  night,  or  at  most  two  or 
three  nights — for  Gabriel  said  the  danger  would  be 
soon  over." 

"  Go  to,  girl,  and  be  not  foolish.  Remember,  too,  to 
speak  of  gentlemen  by  their  names  in  full,  with  a 
master  before  them,  or  such  as  the  law  or  usage  gives 
them.     Go !" 

The  manner  in  which  Harrison  had  been  referred  to 
by  the  daughter,  offended  Grayson  not  less  than  it  did 
her  father,  and,  though  now  well  satisfied  of  the  posi- 
tion in  which  the  parties  stood,  he  could  not  prevent 
the  muscles  of  his  brow  contracting  sternly,  and  his 
eyes  bending  down  sullenly  upon  her.  The  old  lady 
now  put  in  :  — 

"  Really,  John,  you  are  too  obstinate.  Here  are  all 
against  you,  and  there  is  so  little  trouble,  and  there 
may  be  so  much  risk.  You  may  repent  when  it  is  too 
late." 

"  You  will  have  something  then  to  scold  about, 
dame,  and  therefore  should  not  complain.  But  all 
this  is  exceedingly  childish,  and  you  will  do  me  the 
favour,  Master  Grayson,  to  discourse  of  other  things, 
since,  as  I  see  not  any  necessity  to  fly  from  those 
who  have  been  friends  always,  I  shall,  for  this  good 
night  at  least,  remain  just  where  I  am.  For  you, 
wife,  and  you,  Bess,  if  you  will  leave  me,  you  are  both 
at  liberty  to  go." 

"  Leave  you,  father,"  exclaimed  Bess,  sinking  on 
one  knee  by  the  old  man's  side — "  speak  not  unkindly. 
I  will  stay,  and  if  there  be  danger,  will  freely  share  it 
with  you,  in  whatever  form  it  may  chance  to  come." 

"  You  are  a  good  girl,  Bess — a  little  timid,  perhaps, 


110  THE    YEMASSEE. 

but  time  will  cure  you  of  that,"  and  patting  her  on  the 
head,  the  old  man  rose,  and  took  his  way  from  the 
house  into  his  cottage  enclosure.  Some  household 
duties  at  the  same  moment  demanding  the  considera- 
tion of  the  old  lady  in  another  room,  she  left  the 
young  people  alone  together. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  A  cruel  tale  for  an  unwilling  ear, 
And  maddening  to  the  spirit.     But  go  on — 
Speak  daggers  to  my  soul,  which,  though  it  feels, 
Thou  canst  not  warp  to  wrong  by  injuries." 

This  departure  of  the  pastor  and  his  lady  was  pro- 
ductive of  some  little  awkwardness  in  those  who  re- 
mained. For  a  few  moments,  a  deathlike  stillness 
succeeded.  Well  aware  that  her  affections  for  Har- 
rison were  known  to  her  present  companion,  a  feel- 
ing not  altogether  unpleasant,  of  maiden  bashfulness, 
led  the  eyes  of  Bess  to  the  floor,  and  silenced  her 
speech.  A  harsher  mood  for  a  time  produced  a  like 
situation  on  the  part  of  Grayson,  but  it  lasted  not  long. 
With  a  sullen  sort  of  resolution,  gathering  into  some 
of  that  energetic  passion  as  he  proceeded  which  so 
much  marked  his  character,  he  broke  the  silence  at 
length  with  a  word — a  single  word — uttered  desper- 
ately, as  it  were,  and  with  a  half  choking  enuncia- 
tion : — 

"  Miss  Matthews—" 

She  looked  up  at  the  sound,  and  as  she  beheld  the 
dark  expression  of  his  eye,  the  concentrated  glance, 
the  compressed  lip — as  if  he  dared  not  trust  himself  to 
utter  that  which  he  felt  at  the  same  time  must  be 
uttered — she  half  started,  and  the  "  Sir"  with  which 
she  acknowledged  his  address  was  articulated  tim- 
orously. 


THE    YEMASSEE. 


Ill 


"  Be  not  alarmed,  Miss  Matthews  ;  be  not  alarmed. 
I  see  what  I  would  not  see. — I  see  that  I  am  an  object 
rather  of  fear,  rather  of  dislike — detestation  it  may 
be — than  of  any  other  of  those  various  feelings  I  would 
freely  give  my  life  to  inspire  in  your  heart." 

"  You  wrong  me,  Master  Grayson,  indeed  you  do. 
1  have  no  such  feeling  like  those  you  speak  of.  I  do 
not  dislike  or  detest  you,  and  I  should  be  very  sorry  to 
have  you  think  so.     Do  not  think  so,  I  pray  you." 

"  But  you  fear  me — you  fear  me,  Miss  Matthews, 
and  the  feeling  is  much  the  same.  Yet  why  should 
you  fear  me — what  have  I  done,  what  said  ?" 

"  You  startle  me,  Master  Grayson — not  that  I  fear 
you,  for  I  have  no  cause  to  fear  when  I  have  no 
desire  to  harm.  But,  truth,  sir — when  you  look  so 
wildly  and  speak  so  strangely,  I  feel  unhappy  and 
apprehensive,  and  yet  I  do  not  fear  you." 

He  looked  upon  her  as  she  spoke  with  something 
of  a  smile — a  derisive  smile. 

"  Yet,  if  you  knew  all,  Miss  Matthews — if  you  had 
seen  and  heard  all — ay,  even  the  occurrences  of  the 
last  two  hours,  you  would  both  fear  and  hate  me." 

"  I  do  not  fear  to  hear,  Master  Grayson,  and  there- 
fore I  beg  that  you  will  speak  out.  You  cannot, 
surely,  design  to  terrify  me  ?  Let  me  but  think  so,  sir, 
but  for  a  moment,  and  you  will  as  certainly  fail." 

"You  are  strong,  but  not  strong  enough  to  hear, 
without  terror,  the  story  I  could  tell  you.  I  said  you 
feared,  and  perhaps  hated  me — more — perhaps  you 
despise  me.  I  despise  myself,  sincerely,  deeply,  for 
some  of  my  doings,  of  which  you — my  mad  passion  for 
you,  rather — has  been  the  cause." 

"  Speak  no  more  of  this,  Master  Grayson — freely 
did  I  forgive  you  that  error — I  would  also  forget  it, 
sir." 

"  That  forgiveness  was  of  no  avail — my  heart  has 
grown  more  black,  more  malignant  than  ever  ;  and,  no 
need  for  wonder  !  Let  your  thoughts  go  back  and  ex- 
amine, along  with  mine,  its  history  ;  for,  though  in  this 
search,  I  feel  the  accursed  probe  irritating  anew  at 


112  THE    YEMASSEE. 

every  touch  the  yet  bleeding  wound,  I  am  not  un- 
willing that  my  own  hand  should  direct  it.  Hear  me. 
We  were  children  together,  Bess  Matthews. — In  our 
infancy,  in  another  land,  we  played  happily  together. 
When  we  came  to  this,  unconscious  almost  of  our 
remove,  for  at  first  we  were  not  separated, — when  the 
land  was  new,  and  our  fathers  felled  the  old  trees  and 
made  a  cabin  common,  for  three  happy  years,  to  them 
both,  we  played  together  under  the  same  shelter.  Day 
by  day  found  us  inseparate,  and,  at  that  time,  mutual 
dependants.  Each  day  gave  us  new  consciousness, 
and  every  new  consciousness  taught  us  a  most  unselfish 
division  of  our  gains.  I  feel  that  such  was  your  spirit, 
Bess  Matthews — do  me  the  justice  to  say,  you  believe 
such  was  my  spirit  also." 

"  It  was — I  believe  it,  Hugh — Master  Grayson,  I 
mean." 

"  Oh,  be  not  so  frigid — say  Hugh — Hugh  as  of  old 
you  used  to  say  it,"  exclaimed  the  youth,  passionately, 
as  she  made  the  correction. 

"  Such  was  your  spirit  then,  Hugh,  I  willingly  say  it. 
You  were  a  most  unselfish  playmate.  I  have  always 
done  you  justice  in  my  thought.  I  am  glad  still  to 
do  so." 

"  Then  our  school-mate  life — that  came — three 
months  to  me  in  the  year,  with  old  Squire  Downie, 
while  you  had  all  the  year. — I  envied  you  that,  Bess, 
though  I  joyed  still  in  your  advantages.  What  was  my 
solace  the  rest  of  the  year,  when,  without  a  feeling  for 
my  labour,  I  ran  the  furrows,  and  following  my  father's 
footsteps,  dropped  the  grain  into  them  ? — what  was  my 
solace  then  1  Let  me  answer,  as  perhaps  you  know 
not.  The  thought  of  the  night,  when,  unwearied  by 
all  exertion,  I  should  fly  over  to  your  cottage,  and 
chat  with  you  the  few  hours  between  nightfall  and 
bedtime.  I  loved  you  then. — That  was  love,  though 
neither  of  us  knew  it.  It  was  not  the  search  after  the 
playmate,  but  after  the  playmate's  heart,  that  carried 
me  there  ;  for  my  brother,  with  whom  you  played  not 
less  than  with  myself, — he  sunk  wearied  to  his  bed, 


THE  YrMASSEE.  113 

though  older  and  stronger  than  myself.  I  was  un- 
fatigued,  for  I  loved ;  and  thus  it  is  that  the  body, 
taking  its  temper  from  the  affections,  is  strong  or  weak, 
bold  or  timid,  as  they  warm  into  emotion,  or  freeze 
with  indifference.  But  day  after  day,  and  night  after 
night,  I  came  ;  unrelaxing,  unchanging,  to  watch  your 
glance,  to  see  the  play  of  your  lips — to  be  the  adoring 
boy,  afraid  sometimes  even  to  breathe,  certainly  to 
speak,  through  fear  of  breaking  the  spell,  or  possibly 
of  offending  the  divinity  to  whom  I  owed  so  much, 
and  sent  up  feelings  in  prayer  so  devoutly." 

"  Speak  not  thus  extravagantly,  Master  Grayson,  or 
I  must  leave  you." 

"Hugh — call  me  Hugh,  will  you  not?  It  bears  me 
back — back  to  the  boyhood  I  would  I  had  never  risen 
from." 

"  Hugh,  then,  I  will  call  you,  and  with  a  true  pleasure. 
Ay,  more,  Hugh,  I  will  be  to  you  again  the  sister  you 
found  me  then ;  but  you  must  not  run  on  so  idly." 

"Idly,  indeed,  Bess  Matthews,  when  for  a  dearer 
and  a  sweeter  name  I  must  accept  that  of  sister.  But 
let  me  speak  ere  I  madden.  Time  came  with  all  his 
changes.  The  neighbourhood  thickened,  we  were  no 
longer  few  in  number,  and  consequently  no  longer  de- 
pendant upon  each  other.  The  worst  change  followed 
then,  Bess  Matthews — the  change  in  you." 

"  How,  Hugh — you  saw  no  change  in  me.  1  have 
surely  been  the  same  always." 

"  No,  no — many  changes  I  saw  in  you.  Every  hour 
had  its  change,  and  most  of  them  were  improving 
changes.  With  every  change  you  grew  more  beautiful ; 
and  the  auburn  of  your  hair  in  changing  to  a  deep  and 
glossy  brown,  and  the  soft  pale  of  your  girlish  cheek 
in  putting  on  a  leaf  of  the  most  delicate  rose,  and  the 
bright  glance  of  your  eye  in  assuming  a  soft  and  qual- 
ifying moisture  in  its  expression, — were  all  so  many 
exquisite  changes  of  lovely  to  lovelier,  and  none  of 
them  unnoticed  by  me.  My  eyes  were  sentinels  that 
slept  not  when  watching  yours.  I  saw  every  change, 
however  unimportant — however  unseen  by  others !  Not 


114  THE  YEMASSEE. 

a  glance — not  a  feature — not  a  tone — not  an  expres- 
sion did  I  leave  unstudied  ;  and  every  portraiture,  in- 
delibly fixed  upon  my  memory,  underwent  comparison 
in  my  lingering  reflection  before  slumbering  at  night. 
Need  I  tell  you,  that  watching  your  person  thus,  your 
mind  underwent  a  not  less  scrupulous  examination? 
I  weighed  every  sentence  of  your  lips — every  thought 
of  your  sense — every  feeling  of  your  heart.  I  could 
detect  the  unuttered  emotion  in  your  eyes  ;  and  the 
quiver  of  your  lip,  light  as  that  of  the  rose  when  the 
earliest  droppings  of  the  night  dew  steal  into  its 
bosom,  was  perceptible  to  that  keen  glance  of  love 
which  I  kept  for  ever  upon  you.  How  gradual  then 
was  the  change  which  I  noted  day  by  day.  He  came 
at  length,  and  with  a  prescience  which  forms  no  small 
portion  of  the  spirit  of  a  true  affection,  I  cursed  him 
when  I  saw  him.  You  saw  him  too,  and  then  the  change 
grew  rapid — dreadfully  rapid,  to  my  eyes.  He  won 
you,  as  you  had  won  me.  There  was  an  instinct  in  it. 
You  no  longer  cared  whether  I  came  to  you  or  not — " 

"  Nay,  Hugh — there  you  are  wrong  again — I  was 
always  glad — always  most  happy  to  see  you." 

"  You  think  so,  Bess  ; — I  am  willing  to  believe  you 
think  so — but  it  is  you  who  are  wrong.  I  know  that 
you  cared  not  whether  I  came  or  not,  for  on  the  sub- 
ject your  thought  never  rested  for  a  moment,  or  but  for 
a  moment.  I  soon  discovered  that  you  were  also  im- 
portant in  his  sight,  and  I  hated  him  the  more  from  the 
discovery — I  hated  him  the  more  for  loving  you.  Till 
this  day,  however,  I  had  not  imagined  the  extent  to 
which  you  had  both  gone — I  had  not  feared,  I  had  not 
felt  all  my  desolation.  I  had  only  dreamed  of  and 
dreaded  it.  But  when,  in  a  paroxysm  of  madness,  I 
looked  upon  you  and  saw — saw  your  mutual  lips — " 

"  No  more,  Master  Grayson," — she  interposed  with 
dignity. 

"  I  will  not — forgive  me ; — but  you  know  how  it  mad- 
dened me,  and  how  I  erred,  and  how  you  rebuked  me. 
How  dreadful  was  that  rebuke  ! — but  it  did  not  re- 
strain the  error — it  impelled  me  to  a  new  one — " 


THE    YEMASSEE.  115 

"  What  new  one,  Hugh  ?" 

"  Hear  me  !  This  man  Harrison — that  I  should 
speak  his  name ! — that  I  should  speak  it  praisefully 
too  ! — he  came  to  our  cottage — showed  our  danger 
from  the  Yemassees  to  my  mother,  and  would  have 
persuaded  her  to  fly  this  morning — but  I  interfered 
and  prevented  the  removal.  He  saw  my  brother, 
however,  and  as  Walter  is  almost  his  worshipper,  he 
was  more  successful  with  him.  Leaving  you  in  a 
mood  little  short  of  madness  this  afternoon,  I  hurried 
home,  but  there  1  could  not  rest,  and  vexed  with  a 
thousand  dreadful  thoughts,  I  wandered  from  the  house 
away  into  the  woods.  After  a  while  came  the  tread 
of  a  horse  rapidly  driving  up  the  river-trace,  and  near 
the  spot  where  I  wandered.  The  rider  was  Harrison. 
He  alighted  at  a  little  distance  from  me,  tied  his  horse 
to  a  shrub,  and  threw  himself  just  before  me  upon  the 
grass.  A  small  tree  stood  between  us,  and  my 
approach  was  unnoticed.  I  heard  him  murmuring,  and 
with  the  same  base  spirit  which  prompted  me  to  look 
down  on  your  meeting  to-day,  I  listened  to  his  lan- 
guage. His  words  were  words  of  tenderness  and 
love — of  triumphant  love,  and  associated  with  your 
name — he  spoke  of  you — God  curse  him  !  as  his  own." 

The  word  "  Gabriel"  fell  unconsciously  from  the  lips 
of  the  maiden  as  she  heard  this  part  of  the  jiarrative. 
For  a  moment  Grayson  paused,  and  his  brow  grew 
black,  while  his  teeth  were  compressed  closely ;  but 
as  she  looked  up,  as  if  impatient  for  the  rest  of  his 
narrative,  he  went  on  : — 

"  Then  I  maddened.  Then  I  grew  fiendish.  1 
know  not  whence  the  impulse,  but  it  must  have  been 
from  hell.  I  sprang  upon  him,  and  with  the  energies 
of  a  tiger  and  with  more  than  his  ferocity,  I  pinioned 
him  to  the  ground,  my  knee  upon  his  breast — one  hand 
upon  his  throat,  and  with  my  knife  in  the  other — " 

"Stay! — God — man — say  that  you  slew  him  not! 
You  struck  not — oh  !  you  kept  back  your  hand — he 
lives  !"  Convulsed  with  terror,  she  clasped  the  arm  of 
29 


116  THE    YEMAS3EE. 

the  speaker,  while  her-  face  grew  haggard  with  affright, 
and  her  eyes  seemed  starting  from  their  sockets. 

"  I  slew  him  not !"  he  replied  solemnly. 

"  God  bless  you — God  bless  you !"  was  all  that  she 
could  utter,  as  she  sunk  back  fainting  upon  the  floor 
of  the  apartment. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"  Thou  hast  not  slain  her  with  thy  cruel  word, — 
She  lives,  she  wakes — her  eyes  unclose  again, 
And  I  breathe  freely." 

Passionate  and  thoughtless,  Hugh  Grayson  had  not 
calculated  the  consequences  of  his  imprudent  and  ex- 
citing narrative  upon  a  mind  so  sensitive.  He  was 
now  aware  of  his  error,  and  his  alarm  at  her  situation 
was  extreme.  He  lifted  her  from  the  floor,  and  sup- 
ported her  to  a  seat,  endeavouring,  as  well  as  he  could, 
with  due  care  and  anxiety,  to  restore  her  to  conscious- 
ness. While  thus  employed  the  pastor  re-entered  the 
apartment,  and  his  surprise  may  be  imagined. 

"  Ha !  what  is  this — what  have  you  done,  Master 
Grayson?  Speak,  sir — my  child?  Bess — Bess,  dear — 
look  up.  See — 'tis  thy  old  father  that  holds  and 
looks  on  thee.  Look  up,  my  child — look  up  and  speak 
to  me." 

Without  answering,  Grayson  resigned  her  to  the 
hands  of  the  pastor,  and  with  folded  arms  and  a  face 
full  of  gloomy  expression,  stood  gazing  upon  the  scene 
in  silence.  The  father  supported  her  tenderly,  and 
with  a  show  of  fervency  not  common  to  a  habit  which, 
from  constant  exercise,  and  the  pruderies  of  a  form 
of  worship  rather  too  much  given  to  externals,  had,  in 
progress  of  time,  usurped  dominion  over  a  temper 
originally  rather  passionate  than  phlegmatic.  Ex- 
claiming all  the  while  to  the  unconscious  girl — and 


THE    YEMASSEE.  117 

now  and  then  addressing  Grayson  in  a  series  of  broken 
sentences,  the  old  man  proved  the  possession  of  a 
degree  of  regard  for  his  child  which  might  have  ap- 
peared doubtful  before.  Grayson,  meanwhile,  stood 
by, — an  awed  and  silent  spectator, — bitterly  reproach- 
ing himself  for  his  imprudence  in  making  such  a 
communication,  and  striving,  in  his  own  mind,  to  forge 
or  force  an  apology,  at  least  to  himself,  for  the  heed- 
lessness which  had  marked  his  conduct. 

"  What,  Master  Grayson,  has  been  the  cause  of 
this  ?  Speak  out,  sir — my  daughter  is  my  heart,  and 
you  have  trifled  with  her.  Beware,  sir. — I  am  an  old 
man,  and  a  professor  of  a  faith  whose  essence  is 
peace ;  but  I  am  still  a  man,  sir — with  the  feelings 
and  the  passions  of  a  man ;  and  sooner  than  my  child 
should  suffer  wrong,  slight  as  a  word,  I  will  even  throw 
aside  that  faith  and  become  a  man  of  blood.  Speak, 
sir,  what  has  made  all  this?" 

The  youth  grew  firmer  under  such  an  exhortation, 
for  his  was  the  nature  to  be  won  rather  than  com- 
manded. He  looked  firmly  into  the  face  of  the 
speaker,  and  his  brow  gathered  to  a  frown.  The  old 
man  saw  it,  and  saw  in  the  confidence  his  glance  ex- 
pressed, that  however  he  might  have  erred,  he  had  at 
least  intended  no  disrespect.  As  this  conviction 
came  to  his  mind,  he  immediately  addressed  his  com- 
panion in  a  different  character,  while  returning  con- 
sciousness in  his  daughter's  eyes  warned  him  also  to 
moderation. 

"  I  have  been  harsh,  Master  Grayson — harsh,  indeed, 
my  son ;  but  my  daughter  is  dear  to  me  as  the  fresh 
blood  around  my  heart,  and  suffering  with  her  is  sore- 
ness and  more  than  suffering  to  me.  Forbear  to  say, 
at  this  time — I  see  that  she  has  misunderstood  you,  or 
her  sickness  may  have  some  other  cause.  Look — 
bring  me  some  water,  my  son." 

"  My  son !"  muttered  Grayson  to  himself  as  he  pro- 
ceeded to  the  sideboard  where  stood  the  pitcher. 
Pouring  some  of  its  contents  into  a  glass,  he  ap- 
proached the   maiden,  whose  increasing  sighs  indi- 


118  THE    YEMASSEE. 

cated  increasing  consciousness.  The  old  man  was 
about  to  take  the  glass  from  his  hands  when  her  un- 
closing eye  rested  upon  him.  With  a  shriek  she  started 
to  her  feet,  and  lifting  her  hand  as  if  to  prevent  his  ap- 
proach, and  averting  her  eye  as  if  to  shut  his  pres- 
ence from  her  sight,  she  exclaimed — 

"  Away  !  thou  cruel  murderer — come  not  nigh  me — 
look  not  on  me — touch  me  not  with  thy  hands  of  blood. 
Touch  me  not — away." 

"  God  of  Heaven!"  exclaimed  Grayson,  in  like 
horror, — "  what,  indeed  have  I  done  ?  Forgive  me, 
Miss  Matthews,  forgive  me — I  am  no  murderer.  He 
lives — I  struck  him  not.     Forgive  me  !" 

"  I  have  no  forgiveness — none.  Thou  hast  lifted 
thy  hand  against  God's  image — thou  hast  sought  to 
slay  a  noble  gentleman  to  whom  thou  art  as  nothing. 
Away — let  me  not  look  upon  thee  !" 

"Be  calm,  Bess — my  daughter.  Thou  dost  mis- 
take. This  is  no  murderer — this  is  our  young  friend, 
thy  old  playmate,  Hugh  Grayson." 

"  Ay  !  he  came  with  that  old  story,  of  how  we 
played  together,  and  spoke  of  his  love  and  all — and 
then  showed  me  a  knife,  and  lifted  his  bloody  hands 
to  my  face,  and — Oh  !  it  was  too  horrible."  And  she 
shivered  at  the  association  of  terrible  objects  which 
her  imagination  continued  to  conjure  up. 

"  Thou  hast  wrought  upon  her  over  much,  Master 
Grayson,  and  though  I  think  with  no  ill  intent,  yet  it 
would  seem  with  but  small  judgment." 

"  True,  sir— and  give  me,  I  pray  you,  but  a  few 
moments  with  your  daughter — a  few  moments  alone, 
that  I  may  seek  to  undo  this  cruel  thought  which  she 
now  appears  to  hold  me  in.  But  a  few  moments — 
believe  me — I  shall  say  nothing  unkind  or  offensive. " 

"  Leave  me  not,  father— go  not  out — rather  let  him 
go  where  I  may  not  see  him,  for  he  has  been  a  base 
spy,  and  would  have  been  a  foul  murderer,  but  that  the 
good  spirit  held  back  his  hand." 

"  Thou  sayest  rightly,  Bess  Matthews — I  have  been 
base  and  foul — but  thou  sayest  ungently  and  against 


THE    YEMASSEE.  119 

thy  better  nature,  for  I  have  scorned  myself  that  I  was 
so.  Give  me  leave — let  thy  father  go — turn  thy  head 
— close  thine  eyes.  I  ask  thee  not  to  look  upon  me, 
but  hear  me  and  the  quest,  which  1  claim  rather  from 
thy  goodness  than  from  any  meritings  of  mine  own." 

There  was  a  gloomy  despondence  in  his  looks,  and 
a  tone  of  perfect  abandon  in  his  voice,  that  went  to 
the  heart  of  the  maiden,  as,  while  he  spoke,  she 
turned,  and  her  eyes  were  bent  upon  him.  Looking 
steadfastly  upon  his  face  for  a  few  moments  after  he 
had  ceased  speaking,  she  appeared  slowly  to  deliber- 
ate ;  then,  as  if-  satisfied,  she  turned  to  her  father,  and 
with  a  motion  of  her  hand  signified  her  consent. 
The  old  man  retired,  and  Grayson  would  have  led  her 
to  a  seat ;  but  rejecting  his  proffered  aid  with  much 
firmness,  she  drew  a  chair,  and  motioning  him  also  to 
one  at  a  little  distance,  she  prepared  to  hear  him. 

"  1  needed  not  this,  Miss  Matthews,  to  feel  how 
deeply  I  had  erred — how  dreadfully  I  have  been  pun- 
ished. When  you  know  that  I  have  had  but  one  stake 
in  life — that  I  have  lived  but  for  one  object — and  have 
lived  in  vain  and  am  now  denied, — you  will  not  need 
to  be  told  how  completely  unnecessary  to  my  torture 
and  trial  is  the  suspicion  of  your  heart,  and  the  cold- 
ness of  your  look  and  manner.  I  came  to-night  and 
sought  this  interview,  hopeless  of  any  thing  beside, 
at  least  believing  myself  not  altogether  unworthy  of 
your  esteem.  To  prove  this  more  certainly  to  your 
mind,  I  laid  bare  my  own.  I  suppressed  nothing — 
you  saw  my  uncovered  soul,  and  without  concealment 
I  resolutely  pointed  out  to  you  all  its  blots — all  its  de- 
formities. I  spoke  of  my  love  for  you,  of  its  extent, 
not  that  I  might  claim  any  from  you  in  return — for  I 
saw  that  such  hope  was  idle  ;  and,  indeed,  knowing 
what  I  do,  and  how  completely  your  beart  is  in  the 
possession  of  another,  were  it  offered  to  me  at  this 
moment,  could  I  accept  of  it  on  any  terms  ?  Base  as 
I  have  been  for  a  moment — criminal,  as  at  another 
moment  I  would  have  been,  I  value  still  too  deeply 
my  own  affections  to  yield  them  to  one  who  cannot 
29* 


120  THE    YEMASSEE. 

make  a  like  return,  and  with  as  few  reservations.  But 
I  told  you  of  my  love  that  you  should  find  something 
in  its  violence — say  its  madness — to  extenuate,  if  not 
to  excuse,  the  errors  to  which  it  has  prompted  me.  I 
studiously  declared  those  errors,  the  better  to  prove  to 
you  that  I  was  no  hypocrite,  and  the  more  certainly 
therefore  to  inspire  your  confidence  in  one  who,  if  he 
did  not  avoid,  was  at  least  as  little  willing  to  defend 
them.  I  came  to  you  for  your  pardon  ;  and,  unable  to 
win  your  love,  I  sought  only  for  your  esteem.  I  have 
spoken." 

"  Master  Hugh  Grayson — I  have  heard  you,  and  am 
willing  to  believe  in  much  that  you  have  said  ;  but  I  am 
not  prepared  to  believe  that  in  much  that  you  have  said 
you  have  not  been  practising  upon  yourself.  You  have 
said  you  love  me,  and  I  believe  it — sorry  I  am  that 
you  should  loVe  unprofitably  anywhere — more  sorry 
still  that  I  should  be  the  unwitting  occasion  of  a  mis- 
spent and  profitless  passion.  But,  look  closely  into 
yourself — into  your  own  thoughts,  and  then  ask  how 
you  have  loved  me  ?  Let  me  answer — not  as  a  woman 
— not  as  a  thinking  and  a  feeling  creature — but  as  a 
plaything,  whom  your  inconsiderate  passion  might 
practise  upon  at  will,  and  move  to  tears  or  smiles,  as 
may  best  accord  with  a  caprice  that  has  never  from 
childhood  been  conscious  of  any  subjection.  Even 
now,  you  come  to  me  for  my  confidence — my  esteem. 
Yet  you  studiously  practise  upon  my  affections  and 
emotions — upon  my  woman  weaknesses.  You  saw 
that  I  loved  another — I  shame  not  to  say  it,  for  I  believe 
and  feel  it — and  you  watched  me  like  a  sp)\  You  had 
there  no  regulating  principle  keeping  down  impulse, 
but  with  the  caprice  of  a  bad  passion,  consenting  to  a 
aieanness,  which  is  subject  to  punishment  in  our  very 
slaves.  Should  I  trust  the  man  who,  under  any  cir- 
cumstances save  those  of  another's  good  and  safety, 
could    deserve  the  epithet  of  eaves-dropper  ?" 

"  Forbear — forbear — in  mercy  !" 

"  No,  Master  Grayson — let  me  not  forbear.  Were 
it  principle  and  not  pride  that  called  upon  me  to  for- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  121 

bear,  I  should  obey  it ;  but  I  have  known  you  from 
childhood,  Hugh,  and  I  speak  to  you  now  with  all  the 
freedom — and,  believe  me — with  all  the  affection  of 
that  period.  I  know  your  failing,  and  I  speak  to  it. 
I  would  not  wound  your  heart,  I  only  aim  at  the  amend- 
ment of  your  understanding.  I  would  give  it  a  true 
direction.  I  believe  your  heart  to  be  in  the  right 
place — it  only  wants  that  your  mind  should  never 
swerve  from  its  place.  Forgive  me,  therefore,  if, 
speaking  what  I  hold  to  be  just,  I  should  say  that 
which  should  seem  to  be  harsh  also." 

"  Go  on — go  on,  Miss  Matthews — I  can  bear  it  all 
— any  thing  from  you." 

"And  but  small  return,  Master  Grayson,  for  I  have 
borne  much  from  you.  Not  content  with  the  one 
error,  which  freely  I  forgave — so  far  as  forgiveness 
may  be  yielded  without  amendment  or  repentance — 
you  proceeded  to  another — to  a  crime,  a  dark,  a  dread- 
ful crime.  You  sought  the  life  of  a  fellow-creature, 
without  provocation,  and  worse  still,  Master  Grayson, 
without  permitting  your  enemy  the  common  footing 
of  equality.  In  that  one  act  were  malignity,  mur- 
der, and — " 

"  No  more — no  more — speak  it  not — " 

"  Cowardice  !" 

"  Thou  art  bent  to  crush  me  quite,  Bess  Matthews — 
thou  wouldst  have  me  in  the  dust — thy  foot  on  my 
head,  and  the  world  seeing  it.     This  is  thy  triumph." 

"A  sad  one,  Hugh  Grayson — a  sad  one — for  thou 
hast  thy  good — thy  noble  qualities,  wert  thou  not  a 
slave." 

"Slave,  too — malignant,  murderer,  coward,  slave." 

"Ay,  to  thy  baser  thoughts,  and  from  these  would  I 
free  thee.  With  thee — I  believe — it  is  but  to  know 
the  tyranny  to  overthrow  it.  Thy  pride  of  independ- 
ence would  there  be  active,  and  in  that  particular 
most  nobly  exercised.     But  let  me  proceed." 

"  Is  there  more  ?" 

"  Yes, — and  thou  wilt  better  prove  thy  regard  for 
my  esteem,  when  thou  wilt  stand  patiently  to  hear  me 

Vol.  II. 


122  THE    YEMASSEE. 

out.  Thou  didst  not  kill,  but  all  the  feeling  of  death — 
the  death  of  the  mind — was  undergone  by  thy  destined 
victim.  He  felt  himself  under  thee,  he  saw  no  hope, 
he  looked  up  in  the  glance  of  thy  descending  knife, 
and  knew  not  that  the  good  mood  would  so  soon  re- 
turn to  save  him  from  death,  and  thee  from  perdition. 
In  his  thought  thou  didst  slay  him,  though  thou  struck 
no  blow  to  his  heart."  ., 

"  True,  true — I  thought  not  of  that." 

"  Yet  thou  earnest  to  me,  Hugh  Grayson,  claiming 
merit  for  thy  forbearance.  Thou  wert  confident,  be- 
cause thou  didst  not  all  the  crime  thy  first  criminal 
spirit  proposed  to  thee.  Shall  I  suggest  that  the  good 
angel  which  interposed  was  thy  weakness — art  thou 
sure  that  the  dread  of  punishment,  and  not  the  feeling 
of  good,  stayed  thee  not  V 

"  No!  as  I  live, — as  I  stand  before  thee,  Bess  Mat- 
thews, thou  dost  me  wrong.  God  help  me,  no!  I 
was  bad  enough,  and  base  enough,  without  that — it 
was  not  the  low  fear  of  the  hangman — not  the  rope — ■ 
not  the  death.     I  am  sure  it  was  any  thing  but  that." 

"  I  believe  you ;  but  what  was  it  brought  you  to  me 
with  all  this  story — the  particulars  at  full, — the  dread- 
ful incidents  one  upon  the  other,  until  thou  saw'st  my 
agony  under  the  uplifted  knife  aiming  at  the  bosom  of 
one  as  far  above  thee,  Hugh  Grayson,  in  all  that 
makes  the  noble  gentleman,  as  it  is  possible  for  prin- 
ciple to  be  above  passion,  and  the  love  of  God  and 
good  works  superior  to  the  fear  of  punishment?— 
Where  was  thy  manliness  in  this  recital  1  Thou  hast 
no  answer  here." 

"  Thou  speakest  proudly  for  him,  Bess  Matthews — 
it  is  well  he  stands  so  high  in  thy  sight." 

"  I  forgive  thee  that  sneer,  too,  Master  Grayson, 
along  with  thy  malignity,  thy  murder,  and  thy — man- 
liness. Be  thou  forgiven  of  all — but  let  us  say  no 
more  together.  My  regards  are  not  with  me  to  be- 
stow— they  belong  to  thy  doings,  and  thou  mayst 
command,  not  solicit,  whenever  thou  dost  deserve  them. 
Let  us  speak  no  more  together." 


THE    YEMASSEE.  122 

"  Cruel — most  heartless — am  I  so  low  in  thy  sight  ? 
See,  I  am  at  thy  feet — trample  me  in  the  dust — I  will 
not  shrink — I  will  not  reproach  thee." 

"  Thou  shouldst  shame  at  this  practice  upon  my 
feelings.  Thou,  Hugh  Grayson — with  thy  mind,  with 
thy  pride — shouldst  not  aim  to  do  by  passionate  en- 
treaty what  thou  mayst  not  do  by  sense  and  right  rea- 
son. Rise,  sir — thou  canst  not  move  me  now.  Thou 
hast  undone  thyself  in  my  sight — thou  needst  not  sink 
at  my  feet  to  have  me  look  down  upon  thee." 

Had  a  knife  gone  into  the  heart  of  the  young  man, 
a  more  agonizing  expression  could  not  have  over- 
shadowed his  countenance.  The  firmness  of  the  mai- 
den had  taught  him  her  strength  not  less  than  his  own 
weakness.  He  felt  his  error,  and  with  the  mind  for 
which  she  had  given  him  credit,  he  rose,  with  a  new 
determination,  to  his  feet. 

"  Thou  art  right,  Miss  Matthews — and  in  all  that 
has  passed,  mine  have  been  the  error  and  the  wrong.  I 
will  not  ask  for  the  regards  which  I  should  command ; 
but  thou  shalt  hear  well  of  me  henceforward,  and  wilt 
do  me  more  grateful  justice  when  we  meet  again." 

"  I  take  thy  promise,  Hugh,  for  I  know  thy  inde- 
pendence of  character,  and  such  a  promise  will  not  be 
necessary  now  for  thy  good.  Take  my  hand — I  for- 
give thee.  It  is  my  weakness,  perhaps,  to  do  so — but 
I  forgive  thee." 

He  seized  her  hand,  which  she  had,  with  a  girlish 
frankness,  extended  to  him,  carried  it  suddenly  to  his 
lips,  and  immediately  left  the  dwelling. 


124  THE    YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  The  storm  cloud  gathers  fast,  the  hour's  at  hand, 
When  it  will  burst  in  fury  o'er  the  land  ; 
Yet  is  the  quiet  beautiful — the  rush 
Of  the  sweet  south  is  all  disturbs  the  hush, 
While,  like  pure  spirits,  the  pale  night-stars  brood 
O'er  forests  which  the  Indian  bathes  in  blood." 

A  brief  and  passing  dialogue  between  Grayson  and 
the  pastor,  at  the  entrance,  partially  explained  to  the 
latter  the  previous  history.  The  disposition  of  Mat- 
thews in  regard  to  the  pretensions  of  Grayson  to  his 
daughter's  hand— of  which  he  had  long  been  con- 
scious— was  rather  favourable  than  otherwise.  In  this 
particular,  the  suit  of  Grayson  derived  importance  from 
the  degree  of  ill-favour  with  which  the  old  gentleman 
had  been  accustomed  to  consider  that  of  Harrison. 
With  strong  prejudices,  the  pastor  was  quite  satisfied 
to  obey  an  impression,  and  to  mistake,  as  with  persons 
of  strong  prejudices  is  frequently  the  case,  an  impulse 
for  an  argument.  Not  that  he  could  urge  any  thing 
against  the  suiter  who  was  the  favourite  of  his  child — 
of  that  he  felt  satisfied — but,  coming  fairly  under  the 
description  of  the  doggerel  satirist,  he  did  not  dislike 
Harrison  a  jot  less  for  having  little  reason  to  dislike 
him.     And  there  is  something  in  this. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  no  little  regret,  he  beheld  the 
departure  of  Grayson  under  circumstances  so  unfa- 
vourable to  his  suit.  From  his  own,  and  the  lips  of 
his  daughter,  alike,  he  had  been  taught  to  understand 
that  she  had  objections ;  but  the  emotion  of  Grayson, 
and  the  openly-expressed  indignation  of  Bess,  at  once 
satisfied  him  of  the  occurrence  of  that  which  effectu- 
ally excluded  the  hope  that  time  might  effect  some 
change  for  the  better.  He  was  content,  therefore, 
simply  to  regret  what  his  own  good  sense  taught  him 


THE    YEMAS3EE.  125 

he  could  not  amend,  and  what  his  great  regard  for  his 
child's  peace  persuaded  him  not  to  attempt. 

Grayson,  in  the  meantime,  hurried  away  under 
strong  excitements.  He  had  felt  deeply  the  denial, 
but  far  more  deeply  the  rebukes  of  the  maiden.  She 
had  searched  narrowly  into  his  inner  mind — had  probed 
close  its  weaknesses — had  laid  bare  to  his  own  eyes 
those  silent  motives  of  his  conduct,  which  he  had  not 
himself  dared  to  analyze  or  encounter.  His  pride  was 
hurt  by  her  reproaches,  and  he  was  ashamed  of  the 
discoveries  which  she  had  made.  Though  mortified 
to  the  soul,  however,  there  was  a  redeeming  principle 
at  work  within  him.  He  had  been  the  slave  of  his 
mood  :  but  he  determined,  from  that  moment,  upon  the 
overthrow  of  the  tyranny.  To  this  she  had  counselled 
him ;  to  this  his  own  pride  of  character  had  also  coun- 
selled him ;  and,  though  agonized  with  the  defeated 
hopes  clamouring  in  his  bosom,  he  adopted  a  noble 
decision,  and  determined  to  be  at  least  worthy  of  the 
love  which  he  yet  plainly  felt  he  could  never  win. 
His  course  now  was  to  adopt  energetic  measures  in 
preparing  for  any  contest  that  might  happen  with  the 
Indians.  Of  this  danger  he  was  not  altogether  con- 
scious. He  did  not  imagine  it  so  near  at  hand,  and 
had  only  given  in  to  precautionary  measures  with  re- 
gard to  his  mother,  in  compliance  with  his  brother's 
wish,  and  as  no  great  inconvenience  could  result  from 
their  temporary  removal.  But  the  inflexible  obstinacy 
of  the  pastor  in  refusing  to  take  the  shelter  of  the  con- 
tiguous Block  House,  led  him  more  closely  to  reflect 
upon  the  consequent  exposure  of  Bess  Matthews  ;  and, 
from  thus  reflecting,  the  danger  became  magnified  to 
his  eyes.  He  threw  himself,  therefore,  upon  the  steed 
of  Harrison,  as  soon  as  he  reached  the  Block  House ; 
and  without  troubling  himself  to  explain  to  any  one  his 
intentions,  for  he  was  too  proud  for  that,  he  set  off  at 
once,  and  at  full  speed,  to  arouse  such  of  the  neigh- 
bouring foresters  as  had  not  yet  made  their  appear- 
ance at  the  place  of  gathering,  or  had  been  too  re- 
motely situated  for  previous  warning. 


!26  THE    YEMASSEE^ 

The  old  pastor,  on  parting  with  the  disappointed 
youth,  re-entered  the  dwelling,  and  without  being  per- 
ceived by  his  daughter.  She  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  apartment,  her  finger  upon  her  lips,  and  absorbed 
in  meditation  as  quiet  as  if  she  had  never  before  been 
disturbed  for  an  instant ;  like  some  one  of  those  fine 
imbodiments  of  heavenward  devotion  we  meet  with 
now  and  then  in  a  Holy  Family  by  one  of  the  old  mas- 
ters. He  approached  her,  and  when  his  presence  be- 
came evident,  she  knelt  suddenly  before  him. 

"  Bless  me,  father — dear  father — -bless  me,  and  let 
me  retire." 

"  God  bless  you,  Bess — and  watch  over  and  protect 
you — but  what  disturbs  you  1    You  are  troubled." 

"  I  know  not,  father — but  I  fear.  I  fear  something 
terrible,  yet  know  not  what.  My  thoughts  are  all  in 
confusion." 

"  You  need  sleep,  my  child,  and  quiet.  These  ex- 
citements and  foolish  reports  have  worried  you  ;  but  a 
night's  sleep  will  make  all  well  again.  Go,  now — go 
to  your  mother,    and  may  the  good  angels  keep  you." 

With  the  direction,  she  arose,  threw  her  arms  about 
his  neck,  and  with  a  kiss,  affectionately  bidding  him 
good  night,  she  retired  to  her  chamber,  first  passing 
a  few  brief  moments  with  her  mother  in  the  adjoin- 
ing room.  Calling  to  the  trusty  negro  who  per- 
formed such  offices  in  his  household,  the  pastor  gave 
orders  for  the  securing  of  the  house,  and  retired  to  his 
chamber  also.  July — the  name  of  the  negro — pro- 
ceeded to  fasten  the  windows,  which  was  done  by 
means  of  a  wooden  bolt ;  and  thrusting  a  thick  bar  of 
knotted  pine  into  hooks  on  either  side  of  the  door,  he 
coolly  threw  himself  down  to  his  own  slumbers  along- 
side of  it.  We  need  scarcely  add,  knowing  the  sus- 
ceptibility of  the  black  in  this  particular,  that  sleep  was 
not  slow  in  its  approaches  to  the  strongest  tower  in  the 
citadel  of  his  senses.  The  subtle  deity  soon  mastered 
all  his  sentinels,  and  a  snore,  not  the  most  scrupulous 
in  the  world,  sent  forth  from  the  flattened  but  capa- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  127 

cious  nostrils,  soon  announced  his    entire    conquest 
over  the  premises  he  had  invaded. 

But  though  she  retired  to  her  chamber,  Bess  Mat- 
thews in  vain  sought  for  sleep.  Distressed  by  the 
previous  circumstances,  and  warmly  excited  as  she 
had  been  by  the  trying  character  of  the  scene  through 
which  she  had  recently  passed,  she  had  vainly  en- 
deavoured to  find  that  degree  of  quiet,  which  she  felt 
necessary  to  her  mental  not  less  than  to  her  physical 
repose.  After  tossing  fruitlessly  on  her  couch  for  a 
fatiguing  hour,  she  arose,  and  slightly  unclosing  the 
window,  the  only  one  in  her  chamber,  she  looked 
forth  upon  the  night.  It  was  clear,  with  many  stars — 
a  slight  breeze  bent  the  tree-tops,  and  their  murmurs, 
as  they  swayed  to  and  fro,  were  pleasant  to  her  melan- 
choly fancies.  How  could  she  sleep  when  she  thought 
of  the  voluntary  risk  taken  by  Harrison?  Where 
was  he  then — in  what  danger,  surrounded  by  what 
deadly  enemies  ? — perhaps  under  their  very  knives, 
and  she  not  there  to  interpose — to  implore  for — to  save 
him.  How  could  she  fail  to  love  so  much  disinterested 
generosity — so  much  valour  and  adventure,  taken,  as 
with  a  pardonable  vanity,  she  fondly  thought,  so  much 
for  her  safety  and  for  the  benefit  of  hers.  Thus  mu- 
sing, thus  watching,  she  lingered  at  the  window,  looking 
forth,  but  half  conscious  as  she  gazed,  upon  the  thick 
woods,  stretching  away  in  black  masses,  of  those  old 
Indian  forests.  Just  then,  the  moon  rose  calmly  and 
softly  in  the  east — a  fresher  breeze  rising  along  with, 
and  gathering  seemingly  with  her  ascent.  The  river 
wound  partly  before  her  gaze,  and  there  was  a  long 
bright  shaft  of  light — a  pure  white  gleam,  which 
even  its  ripples  could  not  overcome  or  dissipate, 
borrowed  from  the  pale  orb  just  then  swelling  above 
it.  Suddenly  a  canoe  shot  across  the  water  in  the 
distance — then  another,  and  another — quietly,  and  with 
as  little  show  of  life,  as  if  they  were  only  the  gloomy 
shades  of  the  past  generation's  warriors.  Not  a  voice, 
not  a  whisper — not  even  the  flap  of  an  oar,  disturbed 
the  deep  hush  of  the  scene  ;  and  the  little  canoes  that 
30 


128  THE    YEMA.SSEE. 

showed  dimly  in  the  river  from  afar,  as  soon  as  they 
had  overshot  the  pale  gleamy  bar  of  the  moon  upon 
its  bosom,  were  no  longer  perceptible.  Musing  upon 
these  objects,  with  a  vague  feeling  of  danger,  and  an 
oppressive  sense  at  the  same  time  of  exhaustion, 
which  forbade  any  thing  like  a  coherent  estimate  of 
the  thoughts  which  set  in  upon  her  mind  like  so  many 
warring  currents,  Bess  left  the  window,  and  threw 
herself,  listlessly  yet  sad,  upon  the  side  of  the  couch, 
vainly  soliciting  that  sleep  which  seemed  so  reluc- 
tant to  come.  How  slow  was  its  progress — how  long 
before  she  felt  the  haze  growing  over  her  eyelids. 
A  sort  of  stupor  succeeded — she  was  conscious  of  the 
uncertainty  of  her  perception,  and  though  still,  at  in- 
tervals, the  beams  from  the  fast  ascending  moon 
caught  her  eyes,  they  flitted  before  her  like  spiritual 
forms  that  looked  on  and  came  but  to  depart.  These  at 
length  went  from  her  entirely  as  a  sudden  gust  closed 
the  shutter,  and  a  difficult  and  not  very  sound  slumber 
came  at  last  to  her  relief. 

A  little  before  this,  and  with  the  first  moment  of  the 
rise  of  the  moon  on  the  eastern  summits,  the  watchful 
Hector,  obedient  to  his  orders,  prepared  to  execute  the 
charge  which  his  master  had  given  him  at  parting. 
Releasing  Dugdale  from  the  log  to  which  he  had  been 
bound,  he  led  the  impatient  and  fierce  animal  down 
to  the  river's  brink,  and  through  the  tangled  route  only 
known  to  the  hunter.  The  single  track,  imperfectly 
visible  in  the  partial  light,  impeded  somewhat  his  prog- 
ress, so  that  the  moon  was  fairly  visible  by  the  time 
he  reached  the  river.  This  circumstance  was  pro- 
ductive of  some  small  inconvenience  to  the  faithful 
slave,  since  it  proved  him  something  of  a  laggard  in 
his  duty,  and  at  the  same  time,  from  the  lateness  of 
the  hour,  occasioned  no  little  anxiety  in  his  mind  for 
his  master's  safety.  With  a  few  words,  well  under- 
stood seemingly  by  the  well-trained  animal,  he  cheered 
him  on,  and  pushing  him  to  the  slight  trench  made  by 
the  horse's  hoof,  clearly  defined  upon  the  path,  and 
which  had  before  been  shown  him,  he  thrust  his  nose 


THE    YEMASSEE.  129 

gently  down  upon  it,  while  taking  from  his  head  the 
muzzle,  without  which  he  must  have  been  a  dangerous 
neighbour  to  the  Indians,  for  whose  pursuit  he  had 
been  originally  trained  by  the  Spaniards,  in  a  system, 
the  policy  of  which  was  still  in  part  continued,  or 
rather,  of  late,  revived,  by  his  present  owner. 

"  Now,  gone — Dugdale,  be  off,  da's  a  good  dog,  and 
look  for  your  mossa.  Dis  he  track — hark — hark — 
hark,  dog — dis  de  track  ob  he  critter.  Nose  'em,  old 
boy — nose  'em  well.  Make  yourself  good  nigger,  for 
you  hab  blessed  mossa.  Soon  you  go,  now,  better  for 
bote.     Hark  'em,  boy,  hark  'em,  and  hole  'em  fast." 

The  animal  seemed  to  comprehend — looked  intelli- 
gently up  into  the  face  of  his  keeper,  then  stooping 
down,  carefully  drew  a  long  breath,  as  he  scented  the 
designated  spot,  coursed  a  few  steps  quickly  around  it, 
and  then,  as  if  perfectly  assured,  sent  forth  a  long  deep 
bay,  and  set  off  on  the  direct  route  with  all  the  fieet- 
ness  of  a  deer. 

"  Da,  good  dog  dat,  dat  same  Dugdale.  But  he  hab 
reason — Hector  no  gib  'em  meat  for  noting.  Spaniard 
no  teach  'em  better,  and  de  Lord  hab  mercy  'pon  dem 
Ingin,  eff  he  once  stick  he  teet  in  he  troat.  He 
better  bin  in  de  fire,  for  he  nebber  leff  off,  long  as  he 
kin  kick.  Hark — da  good  dog,  dat  same  Dugdale. 
Wonder  way  mossa  pick  up  da  name  for  'em ;  speck 
he  Spanish — in  English,  he  bin  Dogdale." 

Thus  soliloquizing  after  his  own  fashion,  the  negro 
turned  his  eyes  in  the  direction  of  the  strange  vessel, 
lying  about  a  mile  and  a  half  above  the  bank  upon 
which  he  stood,  and  now  gracefully  outlined  by  the 
soft  light  of  the  moon.  She  floated  there,  in  the 
bosom  of  the  stream,  still  and  silent  as  a  sheeted 
spectre,  and  to  all  appearance  with  quite  as  little  life. 
Built  after  the  finest  models  of  her  time,  and  with  a 
distinct  regard  to  the  irregular  pursuits  in  which  she 
was  engaged,  her  appearance  carried  to  the  mind  an 
idea  of  lightness  and  swiftness  which  was  not  at 
variance  with  her  character.  The  fairy-like  tracery 
of  her  slender  masts,  her  spars,  and  cordage,  harmo- 


130  THE    YEMASSEE. 

nized  well  with  the  quiet  water  upon  which  she  rested 
like  some  native  bird,  and  with  the  soft  and  luxuriant 
foliage  covering  the  scenery  around,  just  then  coming 
out  from  shadow  into  the  gathering  moonbeams. 

While  the  black  looked,  his  eye  was  caught  by 
a  stir  upon  the  bank  directly  opposite,  and  at  length, 
shooting  out  from  the  shelter  of  cane  and  rush  which 
thickly  fringed  a  small  lagune  in  that  direction,  he  dis- 
tinctly saw  eight  or  ten  large  double  canoes  making 
for  the  side  of  the  river  upon  which  he  stood.  They 
seemed  filled  with  men,  and  their  paddles  were  moved 
with  a  velocity  only  surpassed  by  the  silence  which 
accompanied  their  use.  The  mischief  was  now  suffi- 
ciently apparent,  even  to  a  mind  so  obtuse  as  that  of  the 
negro ;  and  without  risking  any  thing  by  personal 
delay,  but  now  doubly  aroused  in  anxiety  for  his  mas- 
ter, whose  predictions  he  saw  were  about  to  be 
verified,  he  took  his  way  back  to  the  Block  House, 
with  a  degree  of  hurry  proportioned  to  what  he  felt 
was  the  urgency  of  the  necessity.  It  did  not  take 
him  long  to  reach  the  Block  House,  into  which  he  soon 
found  entrance,  and  gave  the  alarm.  Proceeding  to 
the  quarter  in  which  the  wife  of  Granger  kept  her 
abode,  he  demanded  from  her  a  knife — all  the  weapon 
he  wanted — while  informing  her,  as  he  had  already 
done  those  having  charge  of  the  fortress,  of  the  ap- 
proaching enemy. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  the  knife,  Hector  ?" 

"  I  want  'em,  misses — da's  all — I  guine  after  mossa." 

"  What !  the  captain  1 — why,  where  is  he,  Hector?" 

"  Speck  he  in  berry  much  trouble.     I  must  go  see 

arter  'em.     Dugdale  gone  'ready — Dugdale  no  better 

sarbant  dan  Hector.     Gib  me  de  knife,  misses — dat 

same  long  one  I  hab  for  cut  he  meat." 

"  But,  Hector,  you  can  be  of  very  little  good  if  the 
Indians  are  out.  You  don't  know  where  to  look  for 
the  captain,  and  you'll  tread  on  them  as  you  go  through 
the  bush." 

"  I  can't  help  it,  misses — I  must  go.  I  hab  hand 
and  foot — I  hab  knife — I  hab  eye  for  see — 1  hab  toot 


THE    YEMASSEE.  131 

for  bite — I  'trong,  misses,  and  I  must  go  look  for 
mossa.  God!  misses,  if  any  ting  happen  to  mossa, 
wha  Hector  for  do  1  where  he  guine — who  be  he  new 
mossa?     I  must  go,  misses — gib  me  de  knife." 

"  Well,  Hector,  if  you  will  go,  here's  what  you  want. 
Here's  the  knife,  and  here's  your  master's  gun.  You 
must  take  that  too,"  said  the  woman. 

"  No — I  tank  you  for  noting,  misses.  I  no  want 
gun; I  fraid  ob  'em;  he  kin  shoot  all  sides.  I  no  like 
'em.  Gib  me  knife.  I  use  to  knife — I  kin  scalp  dem 
Injin  wid  knife  after  he  own  fashion.  But  I  no  use  to 
gun." 

"  Well,  but  your  master  is  used  to  it.  You  must 
carry  it  for  him.  He  has  no  arms,  and  this  may  save 
his  life.     Hold  it  so,  and  there's  no  danger." 

She  showed  the  timid  Hector  how  to  carry  the 
loaded  weapon  so  as  to  avoid  risk  to  himself,  and  per- 
suaded of  its  importance  to  his  master,  he  ventured  to 
take  it. 

"  Well,  dat  'nough — I  no  want  any  more.  I  gone, 
misses,  I  gone — but  'member — ef  mossa  come  back 
and  Hector  loss — 'member,  I  say,  I  no  runway — 'mem- 
ber dat.  I  scalp — I  drown — I  dead — ebbery  ting  hap- 
pen to  me — but  I  no  runway." 

With  these  last  words,  the  faithful  black  started 
upon  his  adventure  of  danger,  resolute  and  strong,  in 
the  warm  affection  which  he  bore  his  master,  to  con- 
tend with  every  form  of  difficulty.  He  left  the  gar- 
rison at  the  Block  House  duly  aroused  to  the  conflict, 
which  they  were  now  satisfied  was  not  far  off 
30* 


132  THE    YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"  Oh !  wherefore  strike  the  beautiful,  the  young. 
So  innocent,  unharming  ?    Lift  the  knife, 
If  need  be,  'gainst  the  warrior ;  but  forbear 
The  trembling  woman." 

Let  us  now  return  to  the  chamber  of  Bess  Matthews. 
She  slept  not  soundly,  but  unconsciously,  and  heard 
not  the  distant  but  approaching  cry — "  Sangarrah-me 
— Sangarrah-me !"  The  war  had  begun  ;  and  in  the 
spirit  and  with  the  words  of  Yemassee  battle,  the  thirst 
for  blood  was  universal  among  their  warriors.  From 
the  war-dance,  blessed  by  the  prophet,  stimulated  by 
his  exhortations,  and  warmed  by  the  blood  of  their 
human  sacrifice,  they  had  started  upon  the'  war-path  in 
every  direction.  The  larger  division,  led  on  by  Sanutee 
and  the  prophet,  took  their  course  directly  for  Charles- 
town,  while  Ishiagaska,  heading  a  smaller  party,  pro- 
ceeded to  the  frontier  settlements  upon  the  Pocota- 
ligo,  intending  massacre  along  the  whole  line  of  the 
white  borders,  including  the  now  flourishing  town 
of  Beaufort.  From  house  to  house,  with  the  stealth 
of  a  cat,  he  led  his  band  to  indiscriminate  slaughter, 
and  diverging  with  this  object  from  one  settlement  to 
another,  he  continued  to  reach  every  dwelling-place  of 
the  whites  known  to  him  in  that  neighbourhood.  But 
in  many  he  had  been  foiled.  The  providential  ar- 
rangement of  Harrison,  wherever,  in  the  brief  time 
allowed  him,  he  had  found  it  possible,  had  rendered 
their  design  in  great  part  innocuous  throughout  that 
section,  and  duly  angered  with  his  disappointment,  it 
was  not  long  before  he  came  to  the  little  cottage  of  the 
pastor.  The  lights  had  been  all  extinguished,  and, 
save  on  the  eastern  side,  the  dwelling  lay  in  the  deep- 
est shadow.     The  quiet  of  the  whole  scene  formed 


THE    YEMASSEE.  133 

An  admirable  contrast  to  the  horrors  gathering  in  per- 
spective, and  about  to  destroy^  its  sacred  and  sweet 
repose  for  ever. 

With  the  wonted  caution  of  the  Indian,  Ishiagaska 
led  on  his  band  in  silence.  No  sound  was  permitted 
to  go  before  the  assault.  The  war-whoop,  with  which 
they  anticipate  or  accompany  the  stroke  of  battle,  was 
not  suffered  in  the  present  instance  to  prepare  with  a 
salutary  terror  the  minds  of  their  destined  victims. 
Massacre,  not  battle,  was  the  purpose,  and  the  secret 
stratagem  of  the  marauder  usurped  the  fierce  habit  of 
the  avowed  warrior.  Passing  from  cover  to  cover,  the 
wily  savage  at  length  approached  the  cottage  with  his 
party.  He  stationed  them  around  it,  concealed  each 
under  his  tree.  He  alone  advanced  to  the  dwelling 
with  the  stealth  of  a  panther.  Avoiding  the  clear 
path  of  the  moon,  he  availed  himself,  now  of  one  and 
now  of  another  shelter — the  bush,  the  tree — whatever 
might  afford  a  concealing  shadow  in  his  approach ; 
and  where  this  was  wanting,  throwing  himself  flat 
upon  the  ground,  he  crawled  on  like  a  serpent — now 
lying  close  and  immoveable,  now  taking  a  new  start 
and  hurrying  in  his  progress,  and  at  last  placing  him- 
self successfully  alongside  of  the  little  white  paling 
which  fenced  in  the  cottage,  and  ran  at  a  little  dis- 
tance around  it.  He  parted  the  thong  which  secured 
the  wicket  with  his  knife,  ascended  the  little  avenue, 
and  then,  giving  ear  to  every  quarter  of  the  dwelling, 
and  finding  all  still,  proceeded  on  tiptoe  to  try  the 
fastenings  of  every  window.  The  door  he  felt  was 
secure — so  was  each  window  in  the  body  of  the  house 
which  he  at  length  encompassed,  noting  every  aperture 
in  it.  At  length  he  came  to  the  chamber  where  Bess 
Matthews  slept, — a  chamber  forming  one  half  of  the 
little  shed,  or  addition  to  the  main  dwelling — the  other 
half  being  occupied  for  the  same  purpose  by  her 
parents.  He  placed  his  hand  gently  upon  the  shutter, 
and  with  savage  joy  he  felt  it  yield  beneath  his  touch. 

The  moment  Ishiagaska  made  this  discovery,  he 
silently  retreated  to  a  little  distance  from  the  dwelling, 


134  THE    YEMASSEE. 

and  with  a  signal  which  had  been  agreed  upon — the 
single  and  melancholy  note  of  the  whip-poor-will,  he 
gave  notice  to  his  band  for  their  approach.  Imitating 
his  previous  caution,  they  came  forward  individually 
to  the  cottage,  and  gathering  around  him,  under  the 
shadow  of  a  neighbouring  tree,  they  duly  arranged  the 
method  of  surprise. 

This  done,  under  the  guidance  of  Ishiagaska,  they 
again  approached  the  dwelling,  and  a  party  having 
been  stationed  at  the  door  in  silence,  another  party 
with  their  leader  returned  to  the  window  which  was 
accessible.  Lifted  quietly  upon  the  shoulders  of  two 
of  them,  Ishiagaska  was  at  once  upon  a  level  with  it. 
He  had  already  drawn  it  aside,  and  by  the  light  of  the 
moon  which  streamed  into  the  little  apartment,  he  was 
enabled  with  a  single  glance  to  take  in  its  contents. 
The  half-slumbering  girl  felt  conscious  of  a  sudden 
press  of  air — a  rustling  sound,  and  perhaps  a  darken- 
ing shadow  ;  but  the  obtrusion  was  not  sufficient  to 
alarm  into  action,  faculties  which  had  been  so  very 
much  unbraced  and  overborne  by  previous  exertion, 
under  the  exciting  thoughts  which  had  so  stimulated, 
and  afterward  so  frustrated  them.  She  lay  motionless, 
and  the  wily  savage  descended  to  the  floor  with  all  the 
velvet-footed  stealthiness  of  design,  surveying  silently 
all  the  while  the  reclining  and  beautiful  outline  of  his 
victim's  person.  And  she  was  beautiful — the  ancient 
worship  might  well  have  chosen  such  an  offering  in 
sacrifice  to  his  choice  demon.  Never  did  her  beauty 
show  forth  more  exquisitely  than  now,  when  murder 
stood  nigh,  ready  to  blast  it  for  ever,  hurrying  the  sacred 
fire  of  life  from  the  altar  of  that  heart  which  had 
maintained  itself  so  well  worthy  of  the  heaven  from 
whence  it  came.  Ishiagaska  looked  on,  but  with  no 
feeling  inconsistent  with  the  previous  aim  which  had 
brought  him  there.  The  dress  had  fallen  low  from 
her  neck,  and  in  the  meek,  spiritual  light  of  the  moon, 
the  soft,  wavelike  heave  of  the  scart>e  living  principle 
within  her  bosom  was  like  that  of  .some  blessed  thing 
susceptible  of  death,  yet  at  the  same  time   strong  in 


THE    YEMASSEE.  133 

the  possession  of  the  most  exquisite  developments 
of  life.  Her  long  tresses  hung  about  her  neck,  reliev- 
ing, but  not  concealing,  its  snowy  whiteness.  One  arm 
fell  over  the  side  of  the  couch,  nerveless,  but  soft 
and  snowy  as  the  frostwreath  lifted  by  the  capricious 
wind-  The  other  lay  pressed  upon  her  bosom  above 
her  heart,  as  if  restraining  tbose  trying  apprehensions 
which  had  formed  so  large  a  portion  of  her  prayers 
upon  retiring.  It  was  a  picture  for  any  eye  but  that 
of  the  savage — a  picture  softening  any  mood  but  that 
of  the  habitual  murderer.  It  worked  no  change  in  the 
ferocious  soul  of  Ishiagaska.  He  looked,  but  without 
emotion.  Nor  did  he  longer  hesitate.  Assisting 
another  of  the  Indians  into  the  apartment,  who  passed 
at  once  through  it  into  the  hall  adjoining,  the  door  of 
which  he  was  to  unbar  for  the  rest,  Ishiagaska  now 
approached  the  couch,  and  drawing  his  knife  from  the 
sheath,  the  broad  blade  was  uplifted,  shining  bright 
in  the  moonbeams,  and  the  inflexible  point  bore  down 
upon  that  sweet,  white  round,  in  which  all  was  loveli- 
ness, and  where  was  all  of  life — the  fair  bosom,  the 
pure  heart,  where  the  sacred  principles  of  purity 
and  of  vitality  had  at  once  their  abiding  place.  With 
one  hand  he  lifted  aside  the  long  white  finger  that  lay 
upon  it,  and  in  the  next  instant  the  blow  was  given ; 
but  the  pressure  of  his  grasp,  and  at  the  same  moment 
the  dazzling  light  of  the  moon,  directed  from  the  blade 
under  her  very  lids,  brought  instant  consciousness  to 
the  maiden.  It  was  an  instinct  that  made  her  grasp 
the  uplifted  arm  with  a  strength  of  despairing  nature, 
not  certainly  her  own.  She  started  with  a  shriek,  and 
the  change  of  position  accompanying  her  movement, 
and  the  unlooked-for  direction  and  restraint  given  to 
his  arm,  when,  in  that  nervous  grasp,  she  seized  impar- 
tially diverted  the  down-descending  weapon  of  death. 
It  grazed  slightly  aside,  inflicting  a  wound  of  which 
at  that  moment  she  was  perfectly  unconscious.  Again 
she  cried  out  with  a  convulsive  scream,  as  she  saw 
him  transfer  the  knife  from  the  one  to  the  other  hand. 
For  a  few  seconds  her  struggles  were  all-powerful,  and 


136  THE    YEMASSEE. 

kept  back  for  that  period  of  time  the  fate  which  had 
been  so  certain.  But  what  could  the  frail  spirit,  the 
soft  hand,  the  unexercised  muscles  avail  or  achieve, 
against  such  an  enemy  and  in  such  a  contest.  With 
another  scream,  as  of  one  in  a  last  agony,  conscious- 
ness went  from  her  in  the  conviction  of  the  perfect 
fruitlessness  of  the  contest.  With  a  single  apos- 
trophe— 

"  God  be  merciful — father — Gabriel,  save  me — Ga- 
briel— Ah  !  God,  God— he  cannot — "  her  eye  closed, 
and  she  lay  supine  under  the  knife  of  the  savage. 

But  the  first  scream  which  she  uttered  had  reached 
the  ears  of  her  father,  who  had  been  more  sleepless 
than  herself.  The  scream  of  his  child  had  been  suf- . 
flcient  to  give  renewed  activity  and  life  to  the  limbs  of 
the  aged  pastor.  Starting  from  his  couch,  and  seizing 
upon  a  massive  club  which  stood  in  the  corner  of  his 
chamber,  he  rushed  desperately  into  the  apartment  of 
Bess,  and  happily  in  time.  Her  own  resistance  had 
been  sufficient  to  give  pause  for  this  new  succour,  and 
it  ceased  just  when  the  old  man,  now  made  conscious 
of  the  danger,  cried  aloud  in  the  spirit  of  his  faith, 
while  striking  a  blow  which,  effectually  diverting 
Ishiagaska  from  the  maiden,  compelled  him  to  defend 
himself. 

"Strike  with  me,  Father  of  Mercies,"  cried  the  old 
Puritan — "  strike  with  thy  servant — thou  who  struck 
with  David  and  with  Gideon,  and  who  swept  thy  waters 
against  Pharaoh — strike  with  the  arm  of  thy  poor  in- 
strument. Make  the  savage  to  bite  the  dust,  while  I 
strike — I  slay  in  thy  name,  Oh  !  thou  avenger — even 
in  the  name  of  the  Great  Jehovah." 

And  calling  aloud  in  some  such  apostrophe  upon  the 
name  of  the  Deity  at  every  effort  which  he  'made  with 
his  club,  the  old  pastor  gained  a  temporary  advantage 
over  the  savage,  who,  retreating  from  his  first  furious 
assault  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  couch,  enabled  him 
to  place  himself  alongside  of  his  child.  Without 
giving  himself  a  moment  even  to  her  restoration,  with 
a  paroxysm  that  really  seemed  from  heaven,  he  ad- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  137 

vanced  upon  his  enemy — the  club  swinging  over  his 
head  with  an  exhibition  of  strength  that  was  remark- 
able in  so  old  a  man.  Ishiagaska  pressed  thus,  un- 
willing with  his  knife  to  venture  within  its  reach,  had 
recourse  to  his  tomahawk,  which  hurriedly  he  threw 
at  the  head  of  his  approaching  assailant.  But  the  aim 
was  wide — the  deadly  weapon  flew  into  the  opposite 
wall,  and  the  blow  of  the  club  rung  upon  the  head  of 
the  Indian  with  sufficient  effect,  first  to  stagger,  and 
then  to  bring  him  down.  This  done,  the  old  man 
rushed  to  the  window,  where  two  other  savages  were 
labouring  to  elevate  a  third  to  the  entrance,  and  with 
another  sweep  of  his  mace  he  defeated  their  design, 
by  crushing  down  the  elevated  person  whose  head 
and  hands  were  just  above  the  sill  of  the  window. 
In  their  confusion,  drawing  to  the  shutter,  he  securely 
bolted  it,  and  then  turned  with  all  the  aroused  affec- 
tions of  a  father  to  the  restoration  of  his  child. 

Meanwhile,  the  Indian  who  had  undertaken  to  un- 
close the  main  entrance  for  his  companions,  ignorant 
of  the  sleeping  negro  before  it,  stumbled  over  him. 
July,  who,  like  most  negroes  suddenly  awaking,  was 
stupid  and  confused,  rose  however  with  a  sort  of  in- 
stinct, and  rubbing  his  eyes  with  the  fingers  of  one 
hand,  he  stretched  out  the  other  to  the  bar,  and  with- 
out being  at  all  conscious  of  what  he  was  doing, 
lifted  it  from  its  socket.  He  was  soon  brought  to  a 
sense  of  his  error,  as  a  troop  of  half  naked  savages 
rushed  through  the  opening,  pushing  him  aside  with  a 
degree  of  violence  which  soon  taught  him  his  danger. 
He  knew  now  that  they  were  enemies  ;  and  with  the 
uplifted  bar  still  in  his  hand,  he  felled  the  foremost  of 
those  around  him — who  happened  to  be  the  fellow  who 
first  stumbled  over  him — and  rushed  bravely  enough 
among  the  rest.  But  the  weapon  he  made  use  of 
was  an  unwieldy  one,  and  not  at  all  calculated  for  such 
a  contest.  He  was  soon  taught  to  discover  this,  fatally, 
when  it  swung  uselessly  around,  was  put  aside  by 
one  of  the  more  wily  savages,  who,  adroitly  closingin 
with  the  courageous  negro,  soon  brought  him  to  the 


138  THE    YKMASSEE. 

ground.  In  falling,  however,  he  contrived  to  grapple 
with  his  more  powerful  enemy,  and  down  in  a  close 
embrace  they  went  together.  But  the  hatchet  was  in 
the  hand  of  the  Indian,  and  a  moment  after  his  fall  it 
crushed  into  the  scull  of  the  negro.  Another  and 
another  blow  followed,  and  soon  ended  the  struggle. 
While  the  pulse  was  still  quivering  in  his  heart,  and 
ere  his  eyes  had  yet  closed  in  the  swimming  convul- 
sions of  death,  the  negro  felt  the  sharp  blade  of  the 
knife  sweeping  around  his  head.  The  conqueror  was 
about  to  complete  his  triumph  by  taking  off  the  scalp  of 
his  victim,  "  as  ye  peel  the  fig  when  the  fruit  is  fresh," 
when  a  light,  borne  by  the  half  dressed  lady  of  the 
pastor,  appeared  at  the  door  of  her  chamber,  giving 
life  to  the  scene  of  blood  and  terror  going  on  in  the 
hall.  At  the  same  moment,  followed  by  his  daughter, 
who  vainly  entreated  him  to  remain  in  the  chamber, 
the  pastor  rushed  headlong  forward,  wielding  the  club, 
so  successful  already  against  one  set  of  enemies,  in 
contest  with  another. 

"  Go  not,  father — go  not,"  she  cried  earnestly,  now 
fully  restored  to  the  acutest  consciousness,  and  cling- 
ing to  him  passionately  all  the  while. 

"  Go  not,  John,  I  pray  you — "  implored  the  old  lady, 
endeavouring  to  arrest  him.  But  his  impulse,  under 
all  circumstances,  was  the  wisest  policy.  He  could 
not  hope  for  safety  by  hugging  his  chamber,  and  a  bold 
struggle  to  the  last — a  fearless  heart,  ready  hand,  and 
teeth  clinched  with  a  fixed  purpose — are  true  reason 
when  dealing  with  the  avowed  enemy.  A  furious  in- 
spiration seemed  to  fill  his  heart  as  he  went  forward, 
crying  aloud — 

"  I  fear  not.  The  buckler  of  Jehovah  is  over  his 
servant.  I  go  under  the  banner — I  fight  in  the  service 
of  God.  Keep  me  not  back,  woman — has  he  not  said 
— shall  I  misbelieve — he  will  protect  his  servant.  He 
will  strike  with  the  shepherd,  and  the  wolf  shall  be 
smitten  from  the  fold.  Avoid  thee,  savage,  avoid  thee 
— unloose  thee  from  thy  prey.  The  sword  of  the 
Lord  and  of  Gideon !" 


THE    YEMASSEE.  139 

Thus  saying,  he  rushed  like  one  inspired  upon  the 
savage  whose  knife  had  already  swept  around  the  head 
of  the  negro.  The  scalping  of  July's  head  was  a  more 
difficult  matter  than  the  Indian  had  dreamed  of,  fighting 
in  the  dark.  It  was  only  when  he  laid  hands  upon  it 
that  he  found  the  difficulty  of  taking  a  secure  hold. 
There  was  no  war-tuft  to  seize  upon,  and  the  wool  had 
been  recently  abridged  by  the  judicious  scissors.  He 
had,  accordingly,  literally,  to  peel  away  the  scalp  by 
the  flesh  itself.  The  pastor  interposed  just  after  he 
had  begun  the  operation. 

"Avoid  thee,  thou  bloody  Philistine — give  up  thy 
prey.  The  vengeance  of  the  God  of  David  is  upon 
thee.     In  his  name  I  strike,  I  slay." 

As  he  shouted  he  struck  a  headlong,  a  heavy  blow, 
which,  could  it  have  taken  effect,  would  most  probably 
have  been  fatal.  But  the  pastor  knew  nothing  of  the 
arts  of  war,  and  though  on  his  knees  over  the  negro, 
and  almost  under  the  feet  of  his  new  assailant,  the 
Indian  was  too  "  cunning  of  fence,"  too  well  practised  in 
strategy,  to  be  overcome  in  this  simple  manner.  With 
a  single  jerk  which  completed  his  labour,  he  tore  the 
reeking  scalp  from  the  head  of  the  negro,  and  dropping 
his  own  at  the  same  instant  on  a  level  with  the  floor, 
the  stroke  of  the  pastor  went  clean  over  it ;  and  the 
assailant  himself,  borne  forward  incontinently  by  the 
ill-advised  effort,  was  hurried  stunningly  against  the 
wall  of  the  apartment,  and  in  the  thick  of  his  enemies. 
In  a  moment  they  had  him  down — the  club  wrested 
from  his  hands,  and  exhaustion  necessarily  following 
such  prodigious  and  unaccustomed  efforts  in  so  old  a 
man,  he  now  lay  without  effort  under  the  knives  of  his 
captors. 

With  the  condition  of  her  father,  all  fear,  all  stupor, 
passed  away  instantly  from  the  mind  of  Bess  Matthews. 
She  rushed  forward — she  threw  herself  between  them 
and  their  victim,  and  entreated  their  knives  to  her  heart 
rather  than  to  his.  Clasping  the  legs  of  the  warrior 
immediately  bestriding  the  body  of  the  old  man,  with 
all  a  woman's  and  a  daughter's  eloquence,  she  prayed 
31 


140  THE     YEMASSEE. 

for  pity.  But  she  spoke  to  unwilling  ears,  and  to 
senses  that,  scorning  any  such  appeal  in  their  own 
case  looked  upon  them  with  sovereign  contempt  when 
made  by  others.  She  saw  this  in  the  grim  smile  with 
which  he  heard  her  apostrophes.  His  white  teeth, 
peering  out  between  the  dusky  lips  which  enclosed 
them,  looked  to  her  fears  like  those  of  the  hungry  tiger 
gnashing  with  delight  at  the  banquet  of  blood  at  last 
spread  before  it.  While  yet  she  spoke,  his  hand  tore 
away  from  her  hair  a  long  and  glittering  ornament 
which  had  confined  it — another  tore  from  her  neck  the 
clustering  necklace  which  could  not  adorn  it ;  and  the 
vain  fancies  of  the  savage  immediately  appropriated 
them  as  decorations  for  his  own  person — her  Own 
head-ornament  being  stuck  most  fantastically  in  the 
long,  single  tuft  of  hair — the  war-tuft,  and  all  that  is 
left  at  that  period — of  him  who  had  seized  it.  She 
saw  how  much  pleasure  the  bauble  imparted,  and  a 
new  suggestion  o(  her  thought  gave  her  a  momentary 
hope. 

"  Spare  him — spare  his  life,  and  thou  shalt  have 
more — thou  shalt  have  beads,  and  rings.  Look — look," 
— and  the  jewelled  ring  from  her  finger,  and  another, 
a  sacred  pledge  from  Harrison,  were  given  into  his 
grasp.     He  seized  them  with  avidity. 

"  Good — good — more  !"  cried  the  ferocious  but  friv- 
olous savage,  in  the  few  words  of  broken  English  which 
he  imperfectly  uttered  in  reply  to  hers,  which  he  well 
understood,  for  such  had  been  the  degree  of  intimacy 
existing  between  the  Yemassees  and  the  settlers,  that 
but  few  of  the  former  were  entirely  ignorant  of  some- 
portions  of  the  language  of  the  latter.  So  far,  some- 
thing had  been  gained  in  pleasing  her  enemy.  She 
rushed  to  the  chamber,  and  hurried  forth  with  a  little 
casket,  containing  a  locket,  and  sundry  other  trifles 
commonly  found  in  a  lady's  cabinet.  Her  mother,  in 
the  meanwhile,  having  arranged  her  dress,  hurriedly 
came  forth  also,  provided,  in  like  manner,  with  all  such 
jewels  as  seemed  most  calculated  to  win  the  mercy 
which  they  sought.     They  gave  all  into  his  hands, 


THE    YEMASSEE.  141 

and,  possibly,  had  he  been  alone,  these  concessions 
would  have  saved  them, — their  lives  at  least, — for 
these,  now  the  spoils  of  the  individual  savage  to  whom 
they  were  given,  had  they  been  found  in  the  sack  of 
the  house,  must  have  been  common  stock  with  all  of 
them.  But  the  rest  of  the  band  were  not  disposed  for 
mercy  when  they  beheld  such  an  appropriation  of  their 
plunder,  and  while  they  were  pleading  with  the  savage 
for  the  life  of  the  pastor,  Ishiagaska,  recovered  from 
the  blow  which  had  stunned  him,  entering  the  apart- 
ment, immediately  changed  the  prospects  of  all  the 
party.  He  was  inflamed  to  double  ferocity  by  the 
stout  defence  which  had  been  offered  where  he  had 
been  taught  to  anticipate  so  little ;  and  with  a  fierce 
cry,  seizing  Bess  by  the  long  hair  which,  from  the  loss 
of  her  comb,  now  streamed  over  her  shoulders,  he  waved 
the  tomahawk  in  air,  bidding  his  men  follow  his  ex- 
ample and  do  execution  upon  the  rest.  Another  savage, 
with  the  word,  seized  upon  the  old  lady.  These  sights 
re-aroused  the  pastor.  With  a  desperate  effort  he 
threw  the  knee  of  his  enemy  from  his  breast,  and  was 
about  to  rise,  when  the  stroke  of  a  stick  from  one  of 
the  captors  descended  stunningly,  but  not  fatally,  and 
sent  him  once  more  to  the  ground. 

"  Father — father  ! — God  of  mercy — look,  mother ! 
they  have  slain  him — they  have  slain  my  father  !"  and 
she  wildly  struggled  with  her  captor,  but  without  avail. 
There  was  but  a  moment  now,  and  she  saw  the  hatchet 
descending.  That  moment  was  for  prayer,  but  the 
terror  was  too  great ;  for  as  she  beheld  the  whirling  arm 
and  the  wave  of  the  glittering  steel,  she  closed  her 
eyes,  and  insensibility  came  to  her  relief,  while  she 
sunk  down  under  the  feet  of  the  savage — a  simultaneous 
movement  of  the  Indians  placing  both  of  her  parents 
at  the  same  moment  in  anticipation  of  the  same  awful 
destiny. 


142  THE   YE  MASSES 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"  Captives,  at  midnight,  whither  lead  you  them, 
Heedless  of  tears  and  pity,  all  unmoved 
At  their  poor  hearts'  distress  ?    Yet,  spare  their  lives." 

The  blow  was  stayed — the  death,  deemed  inevitable^ 
was  averted — the  captives  lived.  The  descending  arm 
was  arrested — the  weapon  thrown  aside,  and  a  voice 
of  authority,  at  the  most  interesting  juncture  in  the  lives 
of  the  prisoners,  interposed  for  their  safety.  The  new 
comer  was  Chorley,  the  captain  of  the  pirate,  heading 
his  troop  of  marines,  and  a  small  additional  force  of 
Indians.  He  was  quite  as  much  rejoiced  as  the  cap- 
tives, that  he  came  in  time  for  their  relief.  It  was  not 
here  his  policy  to  appear  the  man  of  blood,  or  to  destroy, 
though  mercilessly  destructive  wherever  he  appeared 
before.  There  were  in  the  present  instance  many  rea- 
sons to  restrain  him.  The  feeling  of  "auld  lang  syne" 
alone  may  have  had  its  effect  upon  his  mood ;  and, 
though  not  sufficiently  potent,  perhaps,  for  purposes  of 
pity  in  a  bosom  otherwise  so  pitiless,  yet,  strength- 
ened by  a  passion  for  the  person  of  Bess  Matthews,  it 
availed  happily  to  save  the  little  family  of  the  pastor. 
Their  safety,  indeed,  had  been  his  object,  and  he  had 
hurried  toward  their  dwelling  with  the  first  signal  of 
war,  as  he  well  knew  the  dangers  to  which  they  would 
be  exposed,  should  he  not  arrive  in  season,  from  the 
indiscriminate  fury  of  the  savages.  But  the  circuitous 
route  which  he  had  been  compelled  to  take,  together 
with  the  difficulties  of  the  forest  to  sailors,  to  whom  a 
march  through  the  tangled  woods  was  something  unu- 
sual, left  him  considerably  behind  the  party  led  on  by 
Ishiagaska.  Arriving  in  time  to  save,  however,  Chor- 
ley was  not  displeased  that  he  had  been  delayed  so 
long.     There  was  a  merit  in  his  appearance  at  a  mo- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  143 

ment  so  perilous,  which  promised  him  advantages  he 
had  not  contemplated  before.  He  could  now  urge  a 
claim  to  the  gratitude  of  the  maiden,  for  her  own  and 
the  safety  of  her  parents,  upon  which  he  built  strongly 
in  his  desire  to  secure  her  person,  if  not  her  heart.  This, 
at  least,  under  all  circumstances,  he  had  certainly  de- 
termined upon. 

He  came  at  the  last  moment,  but  he  came  in  time. 
He  was  well  fitted  for  such  a  time,  for  he  was  bold  and 
decisive.  With  a  muscle  of  iron  he  grasped  the  arm 
of  the  savage,  and  thrust  him  back  from  his  more  del- 
icate victim,  while,  with  a  voice  of  thunder,  sustained 
admirably  by  the  close  proximity  of  the  muskets  borne 
by  the  marines,  he  commanded  the  savages  to  yield 
their  prisoners.  A  spear-thrust  from  one  of  his  men 
enforced  the  command,  which  was  otherwise  disre- 
garded, in  the  case  of  the  Indian  bestriding  Mr.  Mat- 
thews, and  the  old  pastor  stood  once  more  erect.  But 
Ishiagaska,  the  first  surprise  being  over,  was  not  so 
disposed  to  yield  his  captives. 

"  Will  the  white  brother  take  the  scalps  from  Ishia- 
gaska ?  Where  was  the  white  brother  when  Ishiagaska 
was  here  ]  He  was  on  the  blind  path  in  the  woods — 
I  heard  him  cry  like  the  lost  child  for  the  scouts  of 
Ishiagaska.  It  was  Ishiagaska  who  crept  into  the 
wigwam  of  the  white  prophet — look !  The  white 
prophet  can  strike — the  mark  of  his  club  is  on  the 
head  of  a  great  chief — but  not  to  slay.  Ishiagaska  has 
won  the  English- — they  are  the  slaves  of  the  Yemassee 
—he  can  take  their  scalps — he  can  drink  their  blood — 
he  can  tear  out  their  hearts  !" 

"  I'll  be  damned  if  he  does,  though,  while  I  am  here. 
Fear  not,  Matthews,  old  boy — and  you,  my  beauty 
bird — have  no  fear.  You  are  all  safe — he  takes  my 
life  before  he  puts  hands  on  you,  by  Santiago,  as  the 
Spaniards  swear.  Hark  ye,  Ishiagaska — do  you  un- 
derstand what  I  say  ?" 

"  The  Yemassee  has  ears  for  his  brother — let  him. 
speak,"  replied  the  chief,  sullenly. 

"  That  means  that  you  understand  me,  I  suppose — 
31* 


144  THE    YKMASSEE. 

though  it  doesn't  say  so  exactly.  Well,  then — listen. 
I'll  take  care  of  these  prisoners,  and  account  for  them 
to  the  Governor  of  Saint  Augustine." 

"  The  white  prophet  and  the  women  are  for  Ishia- 
gaska.  Let  our  brother  take  his  own  scalps.  Ishia- 
gaska  strikes  not  for  the  Spaniard — he  is  a  warrior  of 
Yemassee." 

"Well,  then,  I  will  account  to  your  people  for  them, 
but  they  are  my  prisoners  now." 

"  Is  not  Ishiagaska  a  chief  of  the  Yemassees — shall 
the  stranger  speak  for  him  to  his  people  ?  Our  white 
brother  is  like  a  cunning  bird  that  is  lazy.  He  looks 
out  from  the  tree  all  day,  and  when  the  other  bird 
catches  the  green  fly,  he  steals  it  out  of  his  teeth. 
Ishiagaska  catches  no  fly  for  the  teeth  of  the  stran- 
ger." 

"  Well,  as  you  please  ;  but,  by  God,  you  may  give 
them  up  civilly  or  not !  They  are  mine  now,  and  yon 
may  better  yourself  as  you  can." 

The  brow  of  the  Indian,  stormy  enough  before,  put 
on  new  terrors,  and  without  a  word  he  rushed  fiercely 
at  the  throat  of  the  sailor,  driving  forward  one  hand  for 
that  purpose,  while  the  other  aimed  a  blow  at  his  head 
with  his  hatchet.  But  the  sailor  was  sufficiently 
familiar  with  Indian  warfare,  not  less  than  war  of  most 
other  kinds,  and  seemed  to  have  anticipated  some 
such  assault.  His  readiness  in  defence  was  fully 
equal  to  the  suddenness  of  the  assault.  He  adroitly 
evaded  the  direct  attack,  bore  back  the  erring  weapon 
with  a  stroke  that  sent  it  wide  from  the  owner's  hand, 
and  grasping  him  by  the  throat,  waved  him  to  and  fro 
as  an  infant  in  the  grasp  of  a  giant.  The  followers  of 
the  chief,  not  discouraged  by  this  evidence  of  superi- 
ority, or  by  the  greater  number  of  seamen  with  their 
white  ally,  rushed  forward  to  his  rescue,  and  the  prob- 
ability is  that  the  affair  would  have  been  one  of  mixed 
massacre  but  for  the  coolness  of  Chorley. 

"  Men — each  his  man !  short  work,  as  I  order. 
Drop  muskets,  and  close  handsomely." 

The  order  was  obeyed  with  promptitude,  and  the 


THE    YEMASSEE.  145 

Indians  were  belted  in,  as  by  a  hoop  of  iron,  without 
room  to  lift  a  hatchet  or  brandish  a  knife,  while  each 
of  the  whites  had  singled  out  an  enemy,  at  whose 
breast  a  pistol  was  presented.  The  sailor  captain  in 
the  meanwhile  appropriated  Ishiagaska  to  himself, 
and  closely  encircled  him  with  one  powerful  arm, 
while  the  muzzle  of  his  pistol  rested  upon  the  Indian's 
head.  But  the  affair  was  suffered  to  proceed  no  far- 
ther, in  this  way,  by  him  who  had  now  the  chief  man- 
agement. The  Indians  were  awed,  and  though  they 
still  held  out  a  sullen  attitude  of  defiance,  Chorley, 
whose  desire  was  that  control  of  the  savages  with- 
out which  he  could  hope  to  do  nothing,  was  satisfied 
of  the  adequacy  of  what  he  had  done  toward  his  ob- 
ject. Releasing  his  own  captive,  therefore,  with  a 
stentorian  laugh,  he  addressed  Ishiagaska: — 

"  That's  the  way,  chief,  to  deal  with  the  enemy. 
But  we  are  no  enemies  of  yours,  and  have  had  fun 
enough." 

"  It  is  fun  for  our  white  brother,"  was  the  stem  and 
dry  response. 

"  Ay,  what  else — devilish  good  fun,  I  say — though, 
to  be  sure,  you  did  not  seem  to  think  so.  But  I  sup- 
pose I  am  to  have  the  prisoners." 

"  If  our  brother  asks  with  his  tongue,  we  say  no — 
if  he  asks  with  his  teeth,  we  say  yes." 

"  Well,  I  care  not,  damn  my  splinters,  Ishy — 
whether  you  answer  to  tongue  or  teeth,  so  that  you 
answer  as  I  want  you.  I'm  glad  now  that  you  speak 
what  is  reasonable." 

"  Will  our  brother  take  the  white  prophet  and  the 
women,  and  give  nothing  to  the  Yemassee  ?  The 
English  buy  from  the  Yemassee,  and  the  Yemassee 
gets  when  he  gives." 

"Ay,  I  see — you  have  learned  to  trade,  and  know 
how  to  drive  a  bargain.  But  you  forget,  chief,  you 
have  had  all  in  the  house." 

"  Good — .and  the  prisoners — they  are  scalps  for 
Ishiagaska.  But  our  brother  would  have  them  for 
himself,  and  will  give  his  small  gun  for  them." 

Vol.  II, 


146  THE    YEMASSEE. 

The  offer  to  exchange  the  captives  for  the  pistol  in 
his  hand,  caused  a  momentary  hesitation  in  the  mind 
of  the  pirate.  He  saw  the  lurking  malignity  in  the 
eye  of  the  savage,  and  gazed  fixedly  upon  him,  then, 
suddenly  seeming  to  determine,  he  exclaimed, — 

"  Well,  it's  a  bargain.  The  captives  are  mine,  and 
here's  the  pistol." 

Scarcely  had  the  weapon  been  placed  in  the  hands 
of  the  wily  savage,  when  he  hastily  thrust  it  at  the  head 
of  the  pirate,  and  crying  aloud  to  his  followers,  who 
echoed  it  lustily,  "  Sangarrah-me — Yemassee,"  he 
drew  the  trigger.  A  loud  laugh  from  Chorley  was  all 
the  response  that  followed.  He  had  seen  enough  of 
the  Indian  character  to  have  anticipated  the  result  of 
the  exchange  just  made,  and  gave  him  a  pistol  there- 
fore which  had  a  little  before  been  discharged.  The 
innocuous  effort  upon  his  life,  accordingly,  had  been 
looked  for ;  and  having  made  it,  the  Indian,  whose 
pride  of  character  had  been  deeply  mortified  by  the 
indignity  to  which  the  sport  of  Chorley  had  just  sub- 
jected him,  folded  his  arms  patiently  as  if  in  waiting 
for  his  death.  This  must  have  followed  but  for  the 
ready  and  almost  convulsive  laugh  of  the  pirate  ;  for 
his  seamen,  provoked  to  fury  by  the  attempt,  would 
otherwise  undoubtedly  have  cut  them  all  to  pieces. 
The  ready  laugh,  however,  so  unlooked-for — so  seem- 
ingly out  of  place — kept  them  still ;  and,  as  much  sur- 
prised as  the  Indians,  they  remained  as  stationary  too. 
A  slap  upon  the  shoulder  from  the  heavy  hand  of  the 
seaman  aroused  Ishiagaska  with  a  start. 

"  How  now,  my  red  brother — didst  thou  think  I 
could  be  killed  by  such  as  thou  ?  Go  to — thou  art  a 
child — a  little  boy.  The  shot  can't  touch  me — the 
sword  can't  cut — the  knife  can't  stick — I  have  a  charm 
from  the  prophet  of  the  Spaniards.  I  bought  it  and 
a  good  wind,  with  a  link  of  this  blessed  chain,  and  have 
had  no  reason  to  repent  my  bargain.  Those  are  the 
priests,  friend  Matthews — now  you  don't  pretend  to 
such  a  trade.     What  good  can  your  preaching  do  to 


THE    YEMASSEE.  147 

sailors  or  soldiersj  when  we  can  get  such  bargains  for 
so  little?" 

The  pastor,  employed  hitherto  in  sustaining  the  form 
of  his  still  but  half  conscious  daughter,  had  been  a 
silent  spectator  of  this  strange  scene.  But  he  now, 
finding  as  long  as  it  lasted  that  the  nerves  of  Bess 
would  continue  unstrung,  seized  the  opportunity  af- 
forded by  this  appeal,  to  implore  that  they  might  be 
relieved  of  their  savage  company. 

"  What,  and  you  continue  here  f  replied  the  sailor. 
"  No,  no — that's  impossible.  They  would  murder  you 
the  moment  I  am  gone." 

"  What  then  are  we  to  do — where  go — where  find 
safety  ?  ' 

"  You  must  go  with  me — with  my  party,  alone,  will 
you  be  safe,  and  while  on  shore  you  must  remain  with 
us.     After  that,  my  vessel  will  give  you  shelter." 

"  Never — never — dear  father,  say  no — better  that 
we  should  die  by  the  savage,"  was  the  whispered  and 
hurried  language  of  Bess  to  her  father  as  she  heard 
this  suggestion.  A  portion  of  her  speech,  only,  was 
audible  to  the  seaman. 

"  What's  that  you  say,  my  sweet  bird  of  beauty — 
my  bird  of  paradise  ? — speak  out,  there  is  no  danger." 

"  She  only  speaks  to  me,  captain,"  said  the  pastor, 
unwilling  that  the  only  protector  they  now  had  should 
be  offended  by  an  indiscreet  remark. 

"  Oh,  father,  that  you  had  listened  to  Gabriel,"  mur- 
mured the  maiden,  as  she  beheld  the  preparations 
making  for  their  departure  with  the  soldiers. 

"Reproach  me  not  now,  my  child — my  heart  is  sore 
enough  for  that  error  of  my  spirit.  It  was  a  wicked 
pride  that  kept  me  from  hearing  and  doing  justice  to 
that  friendly  youth." 

The  kind  word  in  reference  to  her  lover  almost 
banished  all  present  fears  from  the  mind  of  Bess  Mat- 
thews ;  and  with  tears  that  now  relieved  her,  and 
which  before  this  she  could  not  have  shed,  she  buried 
her  head  in  the  bosom  of  the  old  man. 

"  We  are  friends  again,  Ishiagaska,"  extending  his 


148  THE    YEMASSEE. 

hand  while  he  spoke,  was  the  address  of  the  seaman  to 
the  chief,  as  the  latter  took  his  departure  from  the 
dwelling  on  his  way  to  the  Block  House.  The  prof- 
fered hand  was  scornfully  rejected. 

"  Is  Ishiagaska  a  dog  that  shall  come  when  you 
whistle,  and  put  his  tail  between  his  legs  when  you 
storm  ?  The  white  chief  has  put  mud  on  the  head  of 
Ishiagaska." 

"  Well,  go  and  be  d d,  who  cares  1     By  God, 

but  for  the  bargain,  and  that  the  fellow  may  be  useful, 
I  could  send  a  bullet  through  his  red  skin  with  ap- 
petite." 

A  few  words  now  addressed  to  his  captives,  sufficed 
to  instruct  them  as  to  the  necessity  of  a  present  move- 
ment ;  and  a  few  moments  put  them  in  as  great  a 
state  of  readiness  for  their  departure  as,  under  such 
circumstances,  they  could  be  expected  to  make.  The 
sailor,  in  the  meantime,  gave  due  directions  to  his  fol- 
lowers ;  and  picking  up  the  pistol  which  the  indignant 
Ishiagaska  had  thrown  away,  he  contented  himself, 
while  reloading  it,  with  another  boisterous  laugh  at 
the  expense  of  the  savage.  Giving  the  necessary 
orders  to  his  men,  he  approached  the  group,  and 
tendered  his  assistance,  especially  to  Bess  Matthews. 
But  she  shrunk  back  with  an  appearance  of  horror, 
not  surely  justifiable,  if  reference  is  to  be  had  only  to 
his  agency  on  the  present  occasion.  But  the  instinc- 
tive delicacy  of  maidenly  feeling  had  been  more  than 
once  outraged  in  her  bosom  by  the  bold,  licentious 
glance  which  Chorley  had  so  frequently  cast  upon  her 
charms ;  and  now,  heightened  as  they  were  by  cir- 
cumstances— by  the  dishevelled  hair,  and  ill-adjusted 
garments — the  daring  look  of  his  eye  was  enough  to 
offend  a  spirit  so  delicately  just,  so  sensitive,  and  so 
susceptible  as  hers. 

"  What,  too  much  of  a  lady — too  proud,  miss,  to  take 
the  arm  of  a  sailor  ?  Is  it  so,  parson  ?  Have  you  taught 
so. much  pride  to  your  daughter]" 

"  It  is  not  pride,  Master  Chorley,  you  should  know 
■ — but  Bess  has  not  well  got  over  her  fright,  and  it's  but 


THE    YEMASSEF.  149 

natural  that  she  should  look  to  her  father  first  for  pro- 
tection. It's  not  pride,  not  dislike,  believe  me,"  was 
the  assiduous  reply. 

"  But  there's  no  sense  in  that,  now — for  what  sort 
of  protection  could  you  have  afforded  her  if  I  hadn't 
come  ?  You'd  ha'  been  all  scalped  to  death,  or  there's 
no  snakes." 

"  You  say  true,  indeed,  Master  Chorley.  Our  only 
hope  was  in  God,  who  is  above  all, — to  him  we  look — 
he  will  always  find  a  protector  for  the  innocent." 

"  And  not  much  from  him  either,  friend  Matthews — 
for  all  your  prayers  would  have  done  you  little  good 
under  the  knife  of  the  red-skins,  if  I  had  not  come  at 
the  very  moment." 

"  True — and  you  see,  captain,  that  God  did  send  us 
help  at  the  last  trying  moment." 

"  Why,  that's  more  than  my  mother  ever  said  for  me, 
parson — and  more  than  I  can  ever  say  for  myself. 
What,  Dick  Chorley  the  messenger  of  God  ! — Ha !  ha  ! 
ha ! — The  old  folks  would  say  the  devil  rather,  whose 
messenger  I  have  been  from  stem  to  stern,  man  and  boy, 
a  matter  now — but  it's  quite  too  far  to  go  back." 

"  Do  not,  I  pray,  Master  Chorley,"  said  the  old  man, 
gravely — "  and  know,  that  Satan  himself  is  God's  mes- 
senger, and  must  do  his  bidding  in  spite  of  his  own 
will." 

"  The  deuse,  you  say.  Old  Nick,  himself,  God's  mes- 
senger !  Well,  that's  new  to  me,  and  what  the  Cate- 
chism and  old  Meg  never  once  taught  me  to  believe. 
But  I  won't  doubt  you,  for  as  it's  your  trade,  you  ought  to 
know  best,  and  we'll  have  no  more  talk  on  the  subject. 
Come,  old  boy — my  good  Mrs.  Matthews,  and  you,  my 
sweet — all  ready  1     Fall  in,  boys — be  moving." 

"  Where  go  we  now,  Master  Chorley  ?']  inquired 
the  pastor. 

"  With  me,  friend  Matthews,"  was  the  simple  and 
rather  stern  reply  of  the  pirate,  who  arranged  his 
troop  around  the  little  party,  and  gave  orders  to  move. 
He  would  have  taken  his  place  beside  the  maid- 
en, but  she  studiously  passed  to  the  opposite  arm  of 


150  THE    YEMASSEE. 

her  father,  so  as  to  throw  the  pastor's  person  between 
them,  in  this  manner  the  party  moved  oh,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  thu  Block  House,  which  the  cupidity  of  Chor- 
ley  hoped  to  find  unguarded,  and  to  which  he  hurried, 
with  as  much  rapidity  as  possible,  in  order  to  be 
present  at  the  sack.  He'  felt  that  it  must  be  full  of  the 
valuables  of  all  those  who  had  sought  its  shelter,  and 
with  this  desire  he  did  not  scruple  to  compel  the  cap- 
tives to  keep  pace  with  his  party,  as  it  was  necessary, 
before  proceedi ug  to  the  assault,  that  he  should  place 
them  in  a  condition  of  comparative  safety.  A  small 
cot  lay  on  the  baaks  of  the  river,  a  few  miles  from  his 
vessel,  and  in  sight  of  it.  It  was  a  rude  frame  of 
poles,  covered  with  pine  bark  ;  such  as  the  Indian 
hunters  leave  behind  them  all  over  the  country.  To 
this  spot  he  hurried,  and  there,  under  the  charge  of 
three  marines,  well  armed,  he  left  the  jaded  family 
dreading  every  change  of  condition  as  full  of  death, 
if  not  of  other  terrors  even  worse  than  death — and 
with  scarcely  a  smaller  apprehension  of  that  condition 
itself.  Having  so  done,  he  went  onward  to  the  work 
of  destruction,  where  we  shall  again  come  up  with 
him. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"  Is  all  prepared— all  ready — for  they  come, 
I  hear  them  in  that  strange  cry  through  the  wood." 

The  inmates  of  the  Block  House,  as  we  remembei 
had  been  warned  by  Hector  of  the  probable  approach 
of  danger,  and  preparation  was  the  word  in  conse- 
quence. But  what  was  the  preparation  meant  ?  Under 
no  distinct  command,  every  one  had  his  own  favourite 
idea  of  defence,  and  all  was  confusion  in  their  coun 
cils.     The  absence  of  Harrison,  to  whose  direction  all 


THE    YEMASSEE.  1S1 

parties  would  most  willingly  have  turned  their  ears, 
was  now  of  the  most  injurious  tendency,  as  it  left 
them  unprovided  with  any  head,  and  just  at  the  moment 
when  a  high  degree  of  excitement  prevailed  against 
the  choice  of  any  substitute.  Great  bustle  and  little 
execution  took  the  place  of  good  order,  calm  opinion, 
deliberate  and  decided  action.  The  men  were  ready 
enough  to  fight,  and  this  readiness  was  an  evil  of  itself, 
circumstanced  as  they  were.  To  fight  would  have 
been  madness  then — to  protract  the  issue  and  gain 
time  was  the  object  ;  and  few  among  the  defenders  of 
the  fortress  at  that  moment  were  sufficiently  collected 
to  see  this  truth.  In  reason,  there  was  really  but 
a  single  spirit  in  the  Block  House,  sufficiently  deliber- 
ate for  the  occasion — that  spirit  was  a  woman's — the 
wife  of  Granger.  She  had  been  the  child  of  poverty 
and  privation — the  severe  school  of  that  best  tutor, 
necessity,  had  made  her  equable  and  intrepid.  She 
had  looked  suffering  so  long  in  the  face,  that  she  now 
regarded  it  without  a  tear.  Her  parents  had  never 
been  known  to  her,  and  the  most  trying  difficulties 
clung  to  her  from  infancy  up  to  womanhood.  So  ex- 
ercised, her  mind  grew  strong  in  proportion  to  its  trials, 
and  she  had  learned,  in  the  end,  to  regard  them  with  a 
degree  of  fearlessness  far  beyond  the  capacities  of 
any  well-bred  heir  of  prosperity  and  favouring  fortune. 
The  same  trials  attended  her  after  marriage — since  the 
pursuits  of  her  husband  carried  her  into  dangers,  to 
which  even  he  could  oppose  far  less  ability  than 
his  wife.  Her  genius  soared  infinitely  beyond  his 
own,  and  to  her  teachings  was  he  indebted  for  many  of 
those  successes  which  brought  him  wealth  in  after 
years.  She  counselled  his  enterprises,  prompted  or 
persuaded  his  proceedings,  managed  for  him  wisely 
and  economically ;  in  all  respects  proved  herself  un- 
selfish ;  and  if  she  did  not  at  any  time  appear  above 
the  way  of  life  they  had  adopted,  she  took  care  to 
maintain  both  of  them  from  falling  beneath  it — a  re- 
sult too  often  following  the  exclusive  pursuit  of  gain. 
Her  experience  throughout  life,  hitherto,  served  her 
32 


152  THE    YEMASSEE. 

admirably  now,  when  all  was  confusion  among  the 
councils  of  the  men.  She  descended  to  the  court 
below,  where  they  made  a  show  of  deliberation,  and, 
in  her  own  manner,  with  a  just  knowledge  of  human 
nature,  proceeded  to  give  her  aid  in  their  general  prog- 
ress. Knowing  that  any  direct  suggestion  from  a 
woman,  and  under  circumstances  of  strife  and  trial, 
would  necessarily  offend  the  amour  propre  of  the  nobler 
animal,  and  provoke  his  derision,  she  pursued  a  sort  of 
management  which  an  experienced  woman  is  usually 
found  to  employ  as  a  kind  of  familiar — a  wily  little 
demon,  that  goes  unseen  at, her  bidding,  and  does  her 
business,  like  another  Ariel,  the  world  all  the  while 
knowing  nothing  about  it.  Calling  out  from  the  crowd 
one  of  those  whom  she  knew  to  be  not  only  the  most 
collected,  but  the  one  least  annoyed  by  any  unneces- 
sary self-esteem,  she  was  in  a  moment .  joined  by 
Grayson,  and  leading  him  aside,  she  proceeded  to 
suggest  various  measures  of  preparation  and  defence, 
certainly  the  most  prudent  that  had  yet  been  made. 
This  she  did  with  so  much  unobtrusive  modesty,  that 
the  worthy  woodman  took  it  for  granted,  all  the  while, 
that  the  ideas  were  properly  his  own.  She  concluded 
with  insisting  upon  his  taking  the  command. 

"  But  Nichols  will  have  it  all  to  himself.  That's 
one  of  our  difficulties  now." 

"What  of  that?  You  may  easily  manage  him 
Master  Grayson." 

"  How  V  he  asked. 

"  The  greater  number  of  the  men  here  are  of  the 
'  Green  Jackets  V  " 

"  Yes—" 

"  And  you  are  their  lieutenant— next  in  command  to 
Captain  Harrison,  and  their  first  officer  in  his 
absence  V 

"  That's  true 

"  Command   them  as  your  troop   exclusively,  and 
don't  mind  the  rest." 
.  "  But  they  will  be  offended." 

*"  And  if  they  are,  Master  Grayson,  is  this  a  time  to 


THE     YEMASSEE.  153 

heed  their  folly  when  the  enemy's  upon  us  1  Let 
them.  You  do  with  your  troop  without  heed  to  them, 
and  they  will  fall  into  your  ranks — they  will  work 
with  you  when  the  time  comes." 

"  You  are  right,"  was  the  reply ;  and  immediately 
going  forward  with  a  voice  of  authority,  Grayson,  call- 
ing only  the  "  Green  Jackets"  around  him,  proceeded  to 
organize  them,  and  put  himself  in  command,  as  first 
lieutenant  of  the  only  volunteer  corps  which  the  parish 
knew.  The  corps  received  the  annunciation  with  a 
shout,  and  the  majority  readily  recognised  him. 
Nichols  alone  grumbled  a  little,  but  the  minority  was 
too  small  to  offer  any  obstruction  to  Grayson's  author- 
ity, so  that  he  soon  submitted  with  the  rest.  The 
command,  all  circumstances  considered,  was  not  im- 
properly given.  Grayson,  though  not  overwise,  was 
decisive,  and  in  matters  of  strife,  wisdom  itself  must 
be  subservient  to  resolution.  Resolution  in  war  is 
wisdom.  The  new  commander  numbered  his  force, 
placed  the  feeble  and  the  young  in  the  least  trying 
situations — assigned  different  bodies  to  different  sta- 
tions, and  sent  the  women  and  children  into  the  upper 
and  most  sheltered  apartment.  In  a  few  moments, 
things  were  arranged  for  the  approaching  conflict  with 
tolerable  precision.. 

The  force  thus  commanded  by  Grayson  was  small 
enough — the  whole  number  of  men  in  the  Block 
House  not  exceeding  twenty-five.  The  women  and 
children  within  its  shelter  were  probably  twice  that 
number.  The  population  had  been  assembled  in  great 
part  from  the  entire  extent  of  country  lying  between 
the  Block  House  and  the  Indian  settlements.  From 
the  Block  House  downward  to  Port  Royal  Island,  there 
had  been  no  gathering  to  this  point ;  the  settlers  in 
that  section,  necessarily,  in  the  event  of  a  like  diffi- 
culty, seeking  a  retreat  to  the  fort  on  the  island,  which 
had  its  garrison  already,  and  was  more  secure,  and 
in  another  respect  much  more  safe,  as  it  lay  more 
contiguous  to  the  sea.  The  greater  portion  of  the 
country  immediately  endangered  from  the  Yemassees 


154  THE    VEMASSEE. 

had  been  duly  warned,  and  none  but  the  slow,  the  in- 
different, and  the  obstinate,  but  had  taken  sufficient 
heed  of  the  many  warnings  given  them,  as  to  have  put 
themselves  in  safety.  Numbers,  however,  coming 
under  one  or  other  of  these  classes,  had  fallen  victims 
to  their  folly  or  temerity  in  the  sudden  onslaught 
which  followed  the  first  movement  of  the  savages 
sent  among  them,  who,  scattering  themselves  over  the 
country,  had  made  their  attack  so  nearly  at  the  same 
time,  as  to  defeat  any  thing  like  unity  of  action  in  the 
resistance  which  might  be  offered  them. 

Grayson's  first  care  in  his  new  command  was  to  get 
the  women  and  children  fairly  out  of  the  way.  The 
close  upper  apartment  of  the  Block  House  had  been 
especially  assigned  them  ;  and  there  they  had  assem- 
bled generally.  But  some  few  of  the  old  ladies  were 
not  to  be  shut  up  ;  and  his  own  good  Puritan  mother 
gave  the  busy  commandant  no  little  trouble.  She 
went  to  and  fro,  interfering  in  this,  preventing  that, 
and  altogether  annoying  the  men  to  such  a  degree, 
that  it  became  absolutely  necessary  to  put  on  a  show 
of  sternness  which  it  was  the  desire  of  all  parties  to 
avoid.  With  some  difficulty  and  the  assistance  of 
Granger's  wife,  he  at  length  got  her  out  of  the  way, 
and  to  the  great  satisfaction  of  all  parties,  she  worried 
herself  to  sleep  in  the  midst  of  a  Psalm,  which  she 
croned  over  to  the  dreariest  tune  in  her  whole  collec- 
tion. Sleep  had  also  fortunately  seized  upon  the 
children  generally,  and  but  few,  in  the  room  assigned  to 
the  women,  were  able  to  withstand  the  approaches  of 
that  subtle  magician.  The  wife  of  the  trader,  almost 
alone,  continued  watchful ;  thoughtful  in  emergency, 
and  with  a  ready  degree  of  common  sense,  to  contend 
with  trial,  and  to  prepare  against  it.  The  confused 
cluster  of  sleeping  forms,  in  all  positions,  and  of  all 
sorts  and  sizes,  that  hour,  in  the  apartment  so  occu- 
pied, was  grotesque  enough.  One  figure. alone,  sitting 
in  the  midst,  and  musing  with  a  concentrated  mind, 
gave  dignity  to  the  ludicrous  grouping — the  majestic 
figure  of  Mary  Granger — her  dark  eye  fixed  upon  the 


THE    YEMASSEE.  155 

silent  and  sleeping  collection,  in  doubt  and  pity — her 
black  hair  bound  closely  upon  her  head,  and  her  broad 
forehead  seeming  to  enlarge  and  grow  with  the  busy 
thought  at  work  within  it.  Her  hand,  too — strange  as- 
sociation— rested  upon  a  hatchet. 

Having  completed  his  arrangements  with  respect  to 
the  security  of  the  women  and  children,  and.  put  them 
fairly  out  of  his  way,  Grayson  proceeded  to  call  a  sort 
of  council  of  war  for  farther  deliberation ;  and  having 
put  sentinels  along  the  picket,  and  at  different  points 
of  the  building,  the  more  "  sage,  grave  men"  of  the  gar- 
rison proceeded  to  their  farther  arrangements.  These 
were  four  in  number — one  of  them  was  Dick  Grim- 
stead,  the  blacksmith,  who,  in  addition  to  a  little  farm- 
ing, carried  on  when  the  humour  took  him,  did  the 
horse-shoeing  and  ironwork  for  his  neighbours  of  ten 
miles  round,  and  was  in  no  small  repute  among  them. 
He  was  something  of  a  woodman  too ;  and  hunting, 
and  perhaps  drinking,  occupied  no  small  portion  of  the 
time  which  might,  with  more  profit  to  himself,  have 
been  given  to  his  farm  and  smithy.  Nichols,  the  rival 
leader  of  Grayson,  was  also  chosen,  with  the  view 
rather  to  his  pacification  than  with  any  hope  of  good 
counsel  to  be  got  out  of  him.  Granger,  the  trader, 
made  the  third  ;  and  presiding  somewhat  as  chairman, 
Grayson  the  fourth.  We  may  add  that  the  wife  of 
the  trader,  who  had  descended  to  the  lower  apartment 
in  the  meantime,  and  had  contrived  to  busy  herself  in 
one  corner  with  some  of  the  wares  of  her  husband, 
was  present  throughout  the  debate.  We  may  add,  too, 
that  at  frequent  periods  of  the  deliberation,  Granger 
found  it  necessary  to  leave  the  consultations  of  the 
council  for  that  of  his  wife. 

"  What  are  we  to  do  ?"  was  the  general  question. 

"  Let  us  send  out  a  spy,  and  see  what  they  are 
about,"  was  the  speech  of  one. 

"  Let  us  discharge  a  few  pieces,  to  let  them  know 
that,  the  servants  of  the  people  watch  for  them,"  said 
32* 


156  THE    YEMASSEE. 

waste,  after  that  fashion,  the  powder  for  which  a  bucK 
would  say,  thank  you.  If  we  are  to  shoot,  let's  put  it 
to  the  red-skins  themselves.  What  do  you  say? 
Master  Grayson?" 

"  I  say,  keep  quiet,  and  make  ready." 

"  Wouldn't  a  spy  be  of  service  ?"  suggested  Gran- 
ger, with  great  humility,  recurring  to  his  first  prop- 
osition. 

"Will  you  go?"  was  the  blunt  speech  of  the  black- 
smith.    "  I  don't  see  any  good  a  spy  can  do  us." 

"  To  see  into  their  force."  .     , 

"That  won't  strengthen  ours.  No!  I  hold,  Wat 
Grayson,  to  my  mind.  We  must  give  the  dogs  powder 
and  shot  when  we  see  'em.  There's,  no  other  way— 
for  here  we  are,  and  there  they  are.  They're  for  fight, 
and  will  have  our  scalps,  if  we  are  not  for  fight  too. 
We  can't  run,  for  there's  no  place  to  go  to  ;  and  besides 
that,  I'm  not  used  to  running,  and  won't  try  to  run 
from  a  red-skin.     He  shall  chaw  my  bullet  first." 

"  To  be  sure,"  roared  Nichols,  growing  remarkably 
valorous.     "  Battle,  say  I.     Victory  or  death." 

"  Well,  Nichols,  don't  waste  your  breath  now — you 
may  want  it  before  all's  over — "  growled  the  smith,  with 
a  most  imperturbable  composure  of  countenance, — 
"  if  it's  only  to  beg  quarter." 

"  I  beg  quarter — never !"  cried  the  doctor,  fiercely. 

"  It's  agreed,  then,  that  we  are  to  fight — is  that  what 
We  are  to  understand  ?"  inquired  Grayson,  desirous  to 
bring  the  debate  to  a  close,  and  to  hush  the  little  acer- 
bities going  on  between  the  doctor  and  the  smith. 

"  Ay,  to  be  sure— what  else  ?"  said  Grimstead. 

"  What  say  you,  Granger?" 

"  I  say  so  too,  sir — if  they  attack  us — surely." 

"  And  you,  Nichols  1" 

"  Ay,  fight,  I  say.  Battle  to  the  last  drop  of  blood 
- — to  the  last  moment  of  existence.  Victory  or  death, 
ay,  that's  my  word." 

"  Blast  me,  Nichols — what  a  bellows,"  shouted  tho 
smith; 

"  Mind  your  own  bellows,  Grimstead — it  will  be  the 


THE    YEMASSEE. 


157 


better  for  you.  Don't  trouble  yourself  to  meddle  with 
mine — you  may  burn  your  fingers,"  retorted  the  dema- 
gogue, angrily. 

"  Why,  yes,  if  your  breath  holds  hot  long  enough," 
was  the  sneering  response  of  the  smith,  who  seemed 
to  enjoy  the  sport  of  teasing  his  windy  comrade. 

"  Come,  come,  men,  no  words,"  soothingly  said  the 
commander.  "  Let  us  look  to  the  enemy.  You  are  all 
agreed  that  we  are  to  fight ;  and,  to  say  truth,  we  didn't 
want  much  thinking  for  that ;  but  how,  is  the  question 
— how  are  we  to  do  the  fighting  1  Can  we  send  out  a 
party  for  scouts — can  we  spare  the  men  V 

"  I  think  not,"  said  the  smith,  soberly.  "  It  will  re- 
quire all  the  men  we  have,  and  some  of  the  women 
too,  to  keep  watch  at  all  the  loop-holes.  Besides,  we 
have  not  arms  enough,  have  we  ?" 

"Not  muskets,  but  other  arms  in  abundance.  What 
say  you,  Nichols — can  we  send  out  scouts  ?" 

"  Impossible !  we  cannot  spare  them,  and  it  will 
only  expose  them  to  be  cut  up  by  a  superior  enemy. 
No,  sir,  it  will  be  the  nobler  spectacle  to  perish,  like 
men,  breast  to  breast.  I,  for  one,  am  willing  to  die  for 
the  people.     I  will  not  survive  my  country." 

"  Brave  man !"  cried  the  smith — "  but  I'm  not 
willing  to  die  at  all,  and  therefore  I  would  keep  snug 
and  stand  'em  here.  I  can't  skulk  in  the  bush,  like 
Granger ;  I'm  quite  too  fat  for  that.  Though  I'm  sure, 
if  I  were  such  a  skeleton  sort  of  fellow  as  Nichols 
there,  I'd  volunteer  as  a  scout,  and  stand  the  Indian 
arrows  all  day." 

"  I  won't  volunteer,"  cried  Nichols,  hastily.  "It  will 
6et  a  bad  example,  and  my  absence  might  be  fatal." 

"  But  what  if  all  volunteer  ?"  inquired  the  smith, 
scornfully. 

"  I  stand  or  fall  with  the  people,"  responded  the 
demagogue,  proudly.  At  that  moment,  a  shrill  scream 
of  the  whip-poor-will  smote  upon  the  senses  of  the 
council. 

"It  is  the  Indians — that  is  a  favourite  cry  of  the 
Yemassees,"  said  the  wife  of  Granger.     The  com- 


158  THE    YEMASSEE. 

pany  started  to  their  feet,  and  seized  their  weapons. 
As  they  were  about  to  descend  to  the  lower  story,  the 
woman  seized  upon  the  arm  of  Grayson,  and  craved  his 
attendance  in  the  adjoining  apartment.  He  followed ; 
and  leading  him  to  the  only  window  in  the  room,  with- 
out disturbing  any  around  her,  she  pointed  out  a  fallen 
pine-tree,  evidently  thrown  down  within  the  night, 
which  barely  rested  upon  the  side  of  the  log  house,  . 
with  all  its  branches,  and  but  a  few  feet  below  the 
aperture  through  which  they  looked.  The  tree  must 
have  been  cut  previously,  and  so  contrived  as  to  fall 
gradually  upon  the  dwelling.  It  was  a  small  one,  and 
by  resting  in  its  descent  upon  other  intervening  trees, 
its  approach  and  contact  with  the  dwelling  had  been 
unheard.  This  had  probably  taken  place  while  the 
garrison  had  been  squabbling  below,  with  all  the 
women  and  children  listening  and  looking  on.  The 
apartment  in  which  they  stood,  and  against  which  the 
tree  now  depended,  had  been  made,  for  greater  security, 
without  any  loop-holes,  the  musketry  being  calculated 
for  use  in  that  adjoining  and  below.  The  danger 
arising  from  this  new  situation  was  perceptible  at  a 
glance. 

"  The  window  must  be  defended.  Two  stout  men 
will  answer.  But  they  must  have  muskets,"  spoke  the 
woman. 

"  They  shall  have  them,"  said  Grayson,  in  reply  to 
the  fearless  and  thoughtful  person  who  spoke.  "  I  will 
send  Mason  and  your  husband." 

Do — I  will  keep  it  till  they  come." 

"  You  ?"  with  some  surprise,  inquired  Grayson. 

"  Yes,  Master  Grayson — is  there  any  thing  strange 
in  that  ?     I  have  no  fears.     Go — send  your  men." 

"  But  you  will  close  the  shutter." 

']  No — better,  if  they  should  come — better  it  should 
be  open.  If  shut,  we  might  be  too  apt  to  rest  satisfied. 
Exposure  compels  watchfulness,  and  men  make  the 
best  fortresses." 

Full  of  his  new  command,  and  sufficiently  impressed 
with  its  importance,  Grayson  descended  to  the  arrange- 


THE    YEMASSF.E,  159 

ment  of  his  forces  ;  and,  true  to  his  promise,  despatched 
Granger  and  Mason  with  muskets  to  the  defence  of 
the  window,  as  had  been  agreed  upon  with  the  wife 
of  the  trader.  They  prepared  to  do  so ;  but,  to  their 
great  consternation,  Mason,  who  was  a  bulky  man,  had 
scarcely  reached  midway  up  the  ladder  leading  to 
the  apartment,  when,  snapping  off  in  the  middle,  down 
it  came ;  in  its  destruction,  breaking  off  all  communica- 
tion between  the  upper  and  lower  stories  of  the  house 
until  it  could  be  repaired.  To  furnish  a  substitute 
was  a  difficult  task,  about  which  several  of  the  men 
were  set  immediately.  This  accident  deeply  im- 
pressed the  wife  of  the  trader,  even  more  than  the 
defenders  of  the  house  below,  with  the  dangers  of 
their  situation  ;  and  in  much  anxiety,  watchful  and  sad, 
she  paced  the  room  in  which  they  were  now  virtually 
confined,  in  momentary  expectation  of  the  enemy. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

"  The  deep  woods  saw  their  battle,  and  the  night 
Gave  it  a  genial  horror.    Blood  is  there ; 
The  path  of  battle  is  traced  out  in  blood." 

Hugh  Grayson,  with  all  his  faults,  and  they  were 
many,  was  in  reality  a  noble  fellow.  Full  of  a  high 
ambition — a  craving  for  the  unknown  and  the  vast, 
which  spread  itself  vaguely  and  perhaps  unattainably 
before  his  imagination — his  disappointments  very  nat- 
urally vexed  him  somewhat  beyond  prudence,  and 
now  and  then  beyond  the  restraint  of  a  right  reason 
He  usually  came  to  a  knowledge  of  his  error,  and  his 
repentance  was  not  less  ready  than  his  wrong.  So  in 
the  present  instance.  The  stern  severity  of  those  re- 
bukes which  had  fallen  from  the  lips  of  Bess  Matthews. 
had  the  effect  upon  him  which  she  had  anticipated. 
They  brought  out  the  serious  determination  of  his 


160  THE    YEMASSEE. 

manhood,  and  with  due  effort  he  discarded  those 
feeble  and  querulous  fancies  which  had  been  produc- 
tive of  so  much  annoyance  to  her  and  others,  and  so 
much  unhappiness  to  himself.  He  strove  to  forget  the 
feelings  of  the  jealous  and  disappointed  lover,  in  the 
lately  recollected  duties  of  the  man  and  citizen. 

With  the  good  steed  of  Harrison,  which,  in  the  pres- 
ent service,  he  did  not  scruple  to  employ,  he  set  off  on 
the  lower  route,  in  order  to  beat  up  recruits  for  the 
perilous  strife  which  he  now  began  to  believe,  the 
more  he  thought  of  it,  was  in  reality  at  hand.  The 
foresters  were  ready,  for  one  condition  of  security  in 
border  life  was  the  willingness  to  volunteer  in  defence 
of  one  another ;  and  a  five  mile  ride  gave  him  as 
many  followers.  But  his  farther  progress  was  stopped 
short  by  an  unlooked-for  circumstance.  The  tread  of 
a  body  of  horse  reached  the  ears  of  his  party,  and  they 
slunk  into  cover.  Indistinctly,  in  the  imperfect  light, 
they  discovered  a  mounted  force  of  twenty  or  thirty 
men.     Another  survey  made  them  out  to  be  friends. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?"  cried  the  leader,  as  Grayson 
emerged  from  the  bush. 

"  Friends — well  met.  There  is  still  time,"  was  the 
reply. 

"  1  hope  so — I  have  pushed  for  it,"  said  the  com- 
mander, "  as  soon  as  Sir  Edmund  gave  the  orders." 

"  Ha !  you  were  advised  then  of  this,  and  come 
from" — 

"  Beaufort,"  cried  the  officer,  "  with  a  detachment  of 
twenty-eight  for  the  upper  Block  House.  Is  all  well 
there  ?" 

"  Ay,  when  I  left,  but  things  are  thought  to  look 
squally,  and  I  have  just  been  beating  up  volunteers  for 
preparation." 

"  'Tis  well — fall  in,  gentlemen,  and  good  speed — 
but  this  cursed  road  is  continually  throwing  me  out. 
Will  you  undertake  to  guide  us,  so  that  no  time  may 
be  lost!" 

"  Ay — follow— we  are  now  seven  miles  from  the 


THE    YEMASSEE.  I6l 

Block,  and  I  am  as  familiar  with  the  road,  dark  and 
light,  as  with  my  own  hands." 

"  Away  then,  men — away" — and,  led  by  the  younger 
Grayson,  now  fully  aroused  by  the  spirit  of  the  scene, 
they  hurried  away  at  full  speed,  through  the  narrow 
trace  leading  to  the  Block  House.  They  had  ridden 
something  like  two  thirds  of  the  distance,  when  a  dis- 
tant shot,  then  a  shout,  reached  their  ears,  and  com- 
pelled a  pause  for  counsel,  in  order  to  avoid  rushing 
into  ambuscade. 

"  A  mile  farther,"  cried  Grayson — "  a  mile  farther, 
and  we  must  hide  our  horses  in  the  woods,  and  take 
the  bush  on  foot.  Horse  won't  do  here  ;  we  shall  make 
too  good  a  mark ;  and  besides,  riding  ourselves,  we 
should  not  be  able  to  hear  the  approach  of  an  enemy." 

A  few  moments  after  and  they  descended,  each 
fastening  his  horse  to  a  tree  in  the  shelter  of  a  little 
bay  ;  and,  hurriedly  organizing  under  Grayson's  direc- 
tion, they  proceeded,  alive  with  expectation,  in  the 
direction  of  the  fray. 

It  is  high  time  that  we  now  return  to  our  fugitive, 
whose  escape  from  his  Indian  prison  has  already  been 
recorded.  Paddling  his  canoe  with  difficulty,  Harri- 
son drew  a  long  breath  as  it  struck  the  opposite  bank 
in  safety.  He  had  escaped  one  danger,  but  how 
many  more,  equally  serious,  had  he  not  reason  to  an- 
ticipate in  his  farther  progress !  He  knew  too  well 
the  character  of  Indian  warfare,  and  the  mode  of  as- 
sault proposed  by  them  at  present,  not  to  feel  that  all 
the  woods  around  him  were  alive  with  his  enemies. 
That  they  ran  along  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  and 
lay  in  waiting  for  the  steps  of  the  flyer,  alongside  of 
the  fallen  tree.  He  knew  his  danger,  but  he  had  a 
soul  well  calculated  for  its  trials. 

He  leaped  to  the  shore,  and  at  the  very  first  step 
which  he  took,  a  bright  column  of  flame  rose  above  the 
forests  in  the  direction  of  the  Graysons'  cottage.  It 
lay,  not  directly  inhis  path,  but  it  reminded  him  of  his 
duties,  and  he  came  to  all  the  full  decision  marking 
his  character  as  he  pushed  forward  in  that  quarter. 


162  THE  YEMASSEE. 

He  was  not  long  in  reaching  it,  and  the  prospect  realized 
many  of  his  fears.  The  Indians  had  left  their  traces, 
and  the  dwelling  was  wrapped  in  flame,  illuminating 
with  a  deep  glare  the  surrounding  foliage.  He  looked 
for  other  signs  of  their  progress,  but  in  vain.  There 
was  no  blood,  no  mark  of  struggle,  and  his  conclusion 
was,  therefore,  that  the  family  had  been  able  to  effect 
its  escape  from  the  dwelling  before  the  arrival  of  the 
enemy.  This  conviction  was  instantaneous,  and  he 
gave  no  idle  time  in  surveying  a  scene,  only  full  of  a 
terrible  warning.  The  thought  of  the  whole  frontier, 
and  more  than  all,  to  his  heart,  the  thought  of  Bess 
Matthews,  and  of  the  obstinate  old  father,  drove  him 
onward — the  blazing  ruins  lighting  his  way  some  dis- 
tance through  the  woods.  The  rush  of  the  wind,  as 
he  went  forward,  brought  to  his  ears,  at  each  moment 
and  in  various  quarters,  the  whoops  of  the  savage,  re- 
duced to  faintness  by  distance  or  cross  currents  of  the 
breeze,  that  came  here  and  there,  through  dense  clus- 
ters of  foliage.  Now  on  one  side  and  now  on  the  other, 
they  ascended  to  his  hearing,  compelling  him  capri- 
ciously to  veer  from  point  to  point  in  the  hope  of  avoid- 
ing them.  He  had  not  gone  far  when  a  second  and  sud- 
den volume  of  fire  rushed  up  on  one  hand  above  the 
trees,  and  he  could  hear  the  crackling  of  the  timber. 
Almost  at  the  same  instant,  in  an  opposite  direction, 
another  burst  of  flame  attested  the  mode  of  warfare 
adopted  by  the  cunning  savages,  who,  breaking  into 
small  parties  of  five  or  six  in  number,  thus  dispersed 
themselves  over  the  country,  making  their  attacks  sim- 
ultaneous. This  was  the  mode  of  assault  best  adapted 
to  their  enterprise  ;  and,  but  for  the  precautions  taken 
in  warning  the  more  remote  of  the  borderers  to  the 
protection  of  the  Block  House,  their  irruption,  through- 
out its  whole  progress,  had  been  marked  in  blood. 
But  few  of  the  settlers  could  possibly  have  escaped 
their  knives.  Defrauded  however  of  their  prey,  the 
Indians  were  thus  compelled  to  wreak  their  fury  upon 
the  unoccupied  dwellings. 

Dreading"  to  make  new  and  more  painful  discoveries, 


THE    YEMASSEE,  163 

but  with  a  spirit  nerved  for  any  event,  Harrison  kept 
on  his  course  with  unrelaxing  effort,  till  he  came  to 
the  dwelling  of  an  old  German,  an  honest  but  poor 
settler,  named  Van  Holten.  The  old  man  lay  on  his 
threshold  insensible.  His  face  was  prone  to  the 
ground,  and  he  was  partially  stripped  of  his  clothing. 
Harrison  turned  him  over,  and  discovered  a  deep  wound 
upon  his  breast,  made  seemingly  with  a  knife — a 
hatchet  stroke  appeared  upon  his  forehead,  and  the 
scalp  was  gone — a  red  and  dreadfully  lacerated  scull 
presented  itself  to  his  sight,  and  marked  another  of 
those  features  of  war  so  terribly  peculiar  to  the  Ameri 
can  border  struggles.  The  man  was  quite  dead ;  but 
the  brand  thrown  into  his  cabin  had  failed,  and  the 
dwelling  was  unhurt  by  the  fire.  On  he  went,  roused 
into  new  exertion  by  this  sight,  yet  doubly  apprehen- 
sive of  his  discoveries  in  future.  The  cries  of  the 
savages  grew  more  distinct  as  he  proceeded,  and  his 
caution  was  necessarily  redoubled.  They  now  stood 
between  him  and  the  white  settlements,  and  the  proba- 
bility of  coming  upon  his  enemies  was  increased  at 
every  step  in  his  progress.  Apart  from  this,  he  knew 
but  little  of  their  precise  position — now  they  were  on 
one,  and  now  on  the  other  side  of  him — their  whoops 
sounding  with  the  multiplied  echoes  of  the  wood  in 
every  direction,  and  inspiring  a  hesitating  dread,  at 
every  moment,  that  he  should  find  himself  suddenly 
among  them.  The  anxiety  thus  stimulated  was  more 
decidedly  painful  than  would  have  been  the  hand-to- 
hand  encounter.  It  was  so  to  the  fearless  heart  of 
Harrison.  Still,  however,  he  kept  his  way,  until, 
at  length,  emerging  from  the  brush  and  foliage,  a 
small  lake  lay  before  him,  which  he  knew  to  be 
not  more  than  three  miles  from  the  dwelling  of 
Bess  Matthews.  He  immediately  prepared  to  take 
the  path  he  had  usually  taken,  to  the  left,  which 
carried  him  upon  the  banks  of  the  river.  At  that 
moment  his  eye  caught  the  motion  of  a  small  body 
of  the  savages  in  that  very  quarter.  One  third  of 
the  whole  circuit  of  the  lake  lay  between  them  and 
himself,  and  he  now  changed  his  course  to  the  right, 


164  THE    YEMASSEE. 

in  the  hope  to  avoid  them.  But  they  had  been  no 
less  watchful  than  himself.  They  had  seen,  and  pre- 
pared to  intercept  him.  They  divided  for  this  pur- 
pose, and  while  with  shouts  and  fierce  halloos  one 
party  retraced  their  steps  and  came  directly  after  him, 
another,  in  perfect  silence,  advanced  on  their  course 
to  the  opposite  quarter  of  the  lake,  in  the  hope  to  waylay 
him  in  front.  Of  this  arrangement  Harrison  was  per- 
fectly unaware,  and  upon  this  he  did  not  calculate. 
Having  the  start  considerably  of  those  who  came 
behind,  he  did  not  feel  so  deeply  the  risk  of  his  situ- 
ation; but,  fearless  and  swift  of  foot,  he  cheerily  went 
forward,  hoping  to  fall  in  with  some  of  the  whites,  or 
at  least  to  shelter  himself  in  a  close  cover  of  the  woods 
before  they  could  possibly  come  up  with  him.  Through 
brake  and  bush,  heath  and  water,  he  went  forward, 
now  running,  now  walking,  as  the  cries  behind  him  of 
his  pursuers  influenced  his  feelings.  At  length  the 
circuit  of  the  lake  was  made,  and  he  dashed  again  into 
the  deeper  forest,  more  secure,  as  he  was  less  obvious 
to  the  sight  than  when  in  the  glare  of  the  now  high  as- 
cending moon.  The  woods  thickened  into  copse  around 
him,  and  he  began  to  feel  something  more  of  hope. 
He  could  hear  more  distinctly  the  cries  of  war,  and  he 
now  fancied  that  many  of  the  shouts  that  met  his  ears 
were  those  of  the  English.  In  this  thought  he  plunged 
forward,  and  as  one  fierce  halloo  went  up  which  he 
clearly  felt  to  be  from  his  friends,  he  could  not  avoid 
the  impulse  which  prompted  him  to  shout  forth  in 
response.  At  that  moment,  bounding  over  a  fallen  tree, 
he  felt  his  course  arrested.  His  feet  were  caught  by 
one  who  crouched  beside  it,  and  he  came  heavily  to 
the  ground.  The  Indian  who  had  lain  in  ambush  was 
soon  above  him,  and  he  had  but  time  to  ward  with  one 
arm  a  blow  aimed  at  his  head,  when  another  savage 
advanced  upon  him.  These  two  formed  the  detach 
ment  which  had  been  sent  forward  in  front,  for  this  very 
purpose,  by  the  party  in  his  rear.  The  prospect  was 
desperate,  and  feeling  it  so,  the  efforts  of  Harrison 
were  Herculean.     His  only  weapon  was  the  knife  of 


THE    YEMASSEE.  165 

Matiwan,  but  he  was  a  man  of  great  muscular  power 
and  exceedingly  active.  His  faculties  availed  him 
now.  With  a  sudden  evolution,  he  shook  one  of  his 
assailants  from  his  breast,  and  opposed  himself  to  the 
other  while  recovering  his  feet.  They  drove  against 
him  with  their  united  force,  and  one  hatchet  grazed  his 
cheek.  The  savage  who  threw  it  was  borne  forward 
by  the  blow,  and  received  the  knife  of  Harrison  in  his 
side,  but  not  sufficiently  deep  to  disable  him.  They 
came  to  it  again  with  renewed  and  increased  ferocity, 
one  assailing  him  from  behind,  while  the  other  employed 
him  in  front.  He  would  have  gained  a  tree,  but  they 
watched  and  kept  him  too  busily  employed  to  allow  of 
his  design.  A  blow  from  a  club  for  a  moment  paralyzed 
his  arm,  and  he  dropped  his  knife.  Stooping  to  re- 
cover it  they  pressed  him  to  the  ground,  and  so  distrib- 
uted themselves  upon  him,  that  farther  effort  was 
unavailing.  He  saw  the  uplifted  hand,  and  felt  that  his 
senses  swam  with  delirious  thought — his  eyes  were 
hazy,  and  he  muttered  a  confused  language.  At  that 
moment — did  he  dream  or  not ! — it  was  the  deep  bay  of 
his  own  favourite  hound  that  reached  his  ears.  The  as- 
sailants heard  it  too — he  felt  assured  of  that,  as,  half 
starting  from  their  hold  upon  him,  they  looked  anxiously 
around.  Another  moment,  and  he  had  no  farther  doubt ; 
the  cry  of  thirst  and  anger — the  mixed  moan  and  roar 
of  the  well-known  and  evidently  much-aroused  animal, 
was  closely  at  hand.  One  of  the  Indians  sprang 
immediately  to  his  feet — the  other  was  about  to  strike, 
when,  with  a  last  effort,  he  grasped  the  uplifted  arm 
and  snouted  "  Dugdale  !"  aloud.  Nor  did  he  shout  in 
vain.  The  favourite,  with  a  howl  of  delight,  bounded 
at  the  well-known  voice,  and  in  another  instant  Har- 
rison felt  the  long  hair  and  thick  body  pass  directly 
over  his  face,  then  a  single  deep  cry  rung  above  him, 
and  then  he  felt  the  struggle.  He  now  strove,  again, 
to  take  part  in  the  fray,  though  one  arm  hung  motionless 
beside  him.  He  partially  succeeded  in  freeing  himself 
from  the  mass  that  had  weighed  him  down ;  and  look- 
ing up,  saw  the  entire  mouth  and  chin  of  the  Indian 


166  THE    YEMASSEE. 

in  the  jaws  of  the  ferocious  hound.  The  savage  knew 
his  deadliest  enemy,  and  his  struggle  was,  not  to  destroy 
the  dog,  but,  under  the  sudden  panic,  to  free  himself 
from  his  hold.  With  this  object  his  hatchet  and  knife 
had  been  dropped.  His  hands  were  vainly  endeav- 
ouring to  loosen  the  huge,  steely  jaws  of  his  rough 
assailant  from  his  own.  The  other  Indian  had  fled  with 
the  first  bay  of  the  animal — probably  the  more  willing 
to  do  so,  as  the  momentary  fainting  of  Harrison  had 
led  them  to  suppose  him  beyond  farther  opposition. 
But  he  recovered,  and  with  recovering  consciousness 
resuming  the  firm  grasp  of  his  knife  which  had  fallen 
beside  him,  seconded  the  efforts  of  Dugdale  by  driving 
it  into  the  breast  of  their  remaining  enemy,  who  fell 
dead,  with  his  chin  still  between  the  teeth  of  the  hound. 
Staggering  as  much  with  the  excitement  of  such  a  con- 
flict, as  with  the  blow  he  had  received,  Harrison  with 
difficulty  regained  his  feet.  Dugdale  held  on  to  his  prey, 
and  before  he  would  forego  his  hold,  completely  cut  the 
throat  which  he  had  taken  in  his  teeth.  A  single  em- 
brace of  his  master  attested  the  deep  gratitude  which 
he  felt  for  the  good  service  of  his  favourite.  But  there 
was  no  time  for  delay.  The  division  which  pursued 
him  was  at  hand.  He  heard  their  shout  from  a  neigh- 
bouring copse,  and  bent  his  steps  forward.  They 
were  soon  apprized  of  the  movement.  Joined  by  the 
fugitive,  and  having  heard  his  detail,  what  was  their 
surprise  to  find  their  own  warrior  a  victim,  bloody  and 
perfectly  dead  upon  the  grass,  where  they  had  looked 
to  have  taken  a  scalp !  Their  rage  knew  no  bounds, 
and  they  were  now  doubly  earnest  in  pursuit.  Feeble 
from  the  late  struggle,  Harrison  had  not  his  previous 
vigour — besides,  he  had  run  far  through  the  woods,  and 
though  as  hardy  as  any  of  the  Indians,  he  was  not  so  well 
calculated  to  endure  a  race  of  this  nature.  But  though 
they  gained  on  him,  he  knew  that  he  had  a  faithful  ally 
at  hand  on  whom  he  felt  he  might  safely  depend. 
The  hound  too,  trained  as  was  the  custom,  was  formi- 
dable to  the  fears  of  the  Indians.  Like  the  elephant 
of  old,  he  inspired  a  degree  of  terror,  among  the  Ameri- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  167 

can  aborigines,  which  took  from  them  courage  and 
conduct,  in  great  degree  ;  and  had  there  been  less  ine- 
quality of  force,  the  dog  of  Harrison  alone  would  have 
been  sufficient  to  have  decided  his  present  pursuers  to 
choose  a  more  guarded  course,  if  not  to  a  complete 
discontinuance  of  pursuit.  But  they  heard  the  shouts 
of  their  own  warriors  all  around  them,  and  trusting  that 
flying  from  one,  he  must  necessarily  fall  into  the  hands 
of  some  other  party,  they  were  stimulated  still  farther 
in  the  chase.  They  had  not  miscalculated.  The  wild 
whoop  of  war — the  "  Sangarrak-me,  Yemassee"  rose 
directty  in  the  path  before  him,  and,  wearied  with  flight, 
the  fugitive  prepared  himself  for  the  worst.  He  leaned 
against  a  tree  in  exhaustion,  while  the  dog  took  his  place 
beside  him,  obediv^t  to  his  master's  command,  though 
impatient  to  bound  forward.  Harrison  kept  him  for  a 
more  concentrated  struggle,  and  wreathing  his  hands 
in  the  thick  collar  about  his  neck,  he  held  him  back  for 
individual  assailants.  In  the  meantime  his  pursuers 
approached,  though  with  caution.  His  dog  was  con- 
cealed by  the  brush,  on  the  skirts  of  which  he  had 
studiously  placed  him.  They  heard  at  intervals  his 
long,  deep  bay,  and  it  had  an  effect  upon  them  not 
unlike  that  of  their  own  war-whoop  upon  the  whites. 
They  paused,  as  if  in  council.  Just  then  their  party 
in  front  set  up  another  shout,  and  the  confusion  of  a 
skirmish  was  evident  to  the  senses  as  well  of  Harrison 
as  of  his  pursuers.  This,  to  him,  was  a  favourable 
sign.  It  indicated  the  presence  of  friends.  He  heard 
at  length  one  shot,  then  another,  and  another,  and  at 
the  same  time  the  huzzas  of  the  Carolinians.  They 
inspired  him  with  new  courage,  and  with  an  impulse 
which  is  sometimes,  and,  in  desperate  cases,  may  be 
almost  always  considered  wisdom,  he  plunged  forward 
through  the  brush  which  separated  him  from  the  unseen 
combatants,  loudly  cheering  in  the  English  manner, 
and  prompting  the  hound  to  set  up  a  succession  of  cries, 
sufficiently  imposing  to  inspire  panic  in  the  savages. 
His  movement  was  the  signal  to  move  also  on  the  part 
csf  those  who  pursued  him.  But  a  few  steps  changed 
33* 


168  THE    YEMASSEE. 

entirely  the  scene.  He  had  rushed  upon  the  rear  of  a 
band  of  the  Yemassees,  who,  lying  behind  brush  and 
logs,  were  skirmishing  at  advantage  with  the  corps  of 
foresters  which  we  have  seen  led  on  by  the  younger 
Grayson.  A  single  glance  sufficed  to  put  Harrison  in 
possession  of  the  true  facts  of  the  case,  and  though 
hazarding  every  chance  of  life,  he  bounded  directly 
among  and  through  the  ambushed  Indians.  Never  was 
desperation  more  fortunate  in  its  consequences.  Not 
knowing  the  cause  of  such  a  movement,  the  Yemassees 
conceived  themselves  beset  front  and  rear.  They  rose 
screaming  from  their  hiding-places,  and  yielding  on 
each  side  of  the  fugitive.  With  an  unhesitating  hand 
he  struck  with  his  knife  one  of  the  chiefs  who  stood 
in  his  path.  The  hound,  leaping  among  them  like  a 
hungry  panther,  farther  stimulated  the  panic,  and  for  a 
moment  all  were  paralyzed.  The  fierce  and  forward 
advance  of  that  portion  of  their  own  allies  which  had 
been  pursuing  Harrison,  still  farther  contributed  to 
impress  them  with  the  idea  of  an  enemy  in  the  rear ; 
and  before  they  could  recover  so  as  to  arrest  his  prog- 
ress and  discover  the  true  state  of  things,  he  had  passed 
them,  followed  by  the  obedient  dog.  In  another  instant, 
almost  fainting  with  fatigue,  to  the  astonishment  but 
satisfaction  of  all,  he  threw  himself  with  a  laugh  of 
mingled  triumph  and  exhaustion  into  the  ranks  of  his 
sturdy  band  of  foresters.  Without  a  pause  he  com- 
manded their  attention.  Fully  conscious  of  the  confu- 
sion among  the  ambushers,  he  ordered  an  advance,  and 
charged  resolutely  through  the  brush.  The  contest 
was  now  hand  to  hand,  and  the  foresters  took  their  tree 
when  necessary,  as  well  as  their  enemies.  The  pres- 
ence of  their  captain  gave  them  new  courage,  and  the 
desperate  manner  in  which  he  had  charged  through 
the  party  with  which  they  fought,  led  them  to  despise 
their  foes.  This  feeling  imparted  to  the  Carolinians  a 
degree  of  fearlessness,  which,  new  to  them  in  such 
warfare,  was  not  less  new  to  the  Indians.  Half  fright- 
ened before,  they  needed  but  such  an  attack  to  deter- 
mine them  upon  retreat.     They  faltered,  and  at  length 


THE     YEMASSEE.  169 

fled — a  few  fought  on  alone,  but  wounded  and  without 
encouragement,  they  too  gave  way,  sullenly  and  slowly, 
and  at  length  were  brought  up  with  their  less  resolute 
companions  in  the  cover  of  a  neighbouring  and  denser 
wood. 

Harrison  did  not  think  it  advisable  to  pursue  them. 
Calling  off  his  men,  therefore,  he  led  them  on  the 
route  toward  the  Block  House,  which  he  relied  upon 
as  the  chief  rallying  point  of  the  settlers  in  that  quarter. 
His  anxieties,  however,  at  that  moment,  had  in  them 
something  selfish,  and  he  proceeded  hurriedly  to  the 
house  of  old  Matthews.  It  was  empty — its  inmates 
were  gone,  and  the  marks  of  savage  devastation  were 
all  around  them.  The  building  had  been  plundered, 
and  a  hasty  attempt  made  to  burn  it  by  torches,  but 
without  success,  the  floors  being  only  slightly  scorched. 
He  rushed  through  the  apartments  in  despair,  calling 
the  family  by  name.  What  had  been  their  fate — and 
where  was  she J  The  silence  of  every  thing  around 
spoke  to  him  too  loudly,  and  with  the  faintest  possible 
hope  that  they  had  been  sufficiently  apprized  of  the 
approach  of  the  Indians  to  have  taken  the  shelter  of  the 
Block  House,  he  proceeded  to  lead  his  men  to  that 
designated  point. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"  A  sudden  trial,  and  the  danger  comes, 
Noiseless  and  nameless." 

Let  us  go  back  once  more  to  the  Block  House,  and 
look  into  the  condition  of  its  defenders.  We  remem- 
ber the  breaking  of  the  ladder,  the  only  one  in  their 
possession,  which  led  to  the  upper  story  of  the  build- 
ing. This  accident  left  them  in  an  ugly  predicament, 
since  some  time  must  necessarily  be  taken  up  in  its 


170  THE    YEMASSEE. 

repair,  and  in  the  meanwhile,  the  forces  of  the  gar- 
rison were  divided  in  the  different  apartments,  above 
and  below.  In  the  section  devoted  to  the  women  and 
children,  and  somewhat  endangered,  as  we  have  seen, 
from  the  exposed  window  and  the  fallen  tree,  they 
were  its  exclusive  occupants.  The  opposite  chamber 
held  a  few  of  the  more  sturdy  and  common  sense  de- 
fenders, while  in  the  great  hall  below  a  miscellaneous 
group  of  fifteen  or  twenty — the  inferior  spirits — were 
assembled.  Two  or  three  of  these  were  busied  in 
patching  up  the  broken  ladder,  which  was  to  renew 
the  communication  between  the  several  parties,  thus, 
of  necessity,  thrown  asunder. 

The  watchers  of  the  fortress,  from  their  several 
loop-holes,  looked  forth,  east  and  west,  yet  saw  no 
enemy.  All  was  soft  in  the  picture,  all  was  silent  in 
the  deep  repose  of  the  forest.  The  night  was  clear 
and  lovely,  and  the  vague  and  dim  beauty  with  which, 
in  the  imperfect  moonlight,  the  foliage  of  the  woods 
spread  away  in  distant  shadows,  or  clung  and  clustered 
together  as  in  groups,  shrinking  for  concealment  from 
her  glances,  touched  the  spirits  even  of  those  rude  for- 
esters. With  them,  its  poetry  was  a  matter  of  feeling 
— with  the  refined,  it  is  an  instrument  of  art.  Hence  it 
is,  indeed,  that  the  poetry  of  the  early  ages  speaks  in  the 
simplest  language,  while  that  of  civilization,  becoming 
only  the  agent  for  artificial  enjoyment,  is  ornate  in  its 
dress,  and  complex  in  its  form  and  structure.  Far  away 
in  the  distance,  like  glimpses  of  a  spirit,  little  sweeps 
of  the  river,  in  its  crooked  windings,  flashed  upon  the 
eye,  streaking,  with  a  sweet  relief,  the  sombre  foliage 
of  the  swampy  forest  through  which  it  stole.  A  single 
note — the  melancholy  murmur  of  the  chuck-will's- 
widow — the  Carolina  whippoorwill,  broke  fitfully  upon 
the  silence,  to  whieh  it  gave  an  added  solemnity.  That 
single  note  indicated  to  the  keepers  of  the  fortress  a 
watchfulness,  corresponding  with  their  own,  of  another 
living  creature.  Whether  it  were  human  or  not — 
whether  it  were  the  deceptive  lure  and  signal  of  the 
savage,   or,   in   reality,  the    complaining  cry  of  the 


THE    YEMASSEE.  171 

solitary  and  sad  bird  which  it  so  resembled,  was,  how- 
ever, matter  of  nice  question  with  those  who  listened 
to  the  strain. 

"  They  are  there — they  are  there,"  cried  Grayson— 
"  I'll  swear  it.  I've  heard  them  quite  too  often  not  to 
know  their  cunning  now.  Hector  was  right,  after  all, 
boys." 

'"  What !  where  ?" — asked  Nichols. 

"  There,  in  the  bush  to  the  left  of  the  blasted  oak — 
now,  down  to  the  bluff — and  now,  by  the  bay  on  the 
right.     They  are  all  round  us." 

"  By  what  do  you  know,  Wat?" 

"The  whippoorwill — that  is  their  cry — their  signal." 

"  It  is  the  whippoorwill,"  said  Nichols, — "  there  is 
but  one  of  them  ;  you  never  hear  more  than  one  at  a 
time." 

"  It  is  the  Indian,"  responded  Grayson — "  for  though 
there  is  but  one  note,  it  comes,  as  you  perceive,  from 
three  different  quarters.  Now  it  is  at  the  Chief's  Bluff 
— and  now — it  comes  immediately  from  the  old  grove 
of  scrubby  oak.  A  few  shot  there  would  get  an 
answer." 

"  Good !  that  is  just  my  thought — let  us  give  them 
a  broadside,  and  disperse  the  scoundrels,"  cried 
Nichols. 

"  Not  so  fast,  Nichols — you  swallow  your  enemy 
without  asking  leave  of  your  teeth.  Have  you  in- 
quired first  whether  we  have  powder  and  shot  to  throw 
away  upon  bushes  that  may  be  empty  ?"  now  exclaimed 
the  blacksmith,  joining  in  the  question. 

"  A  prudent  thought,  that,  Grimstead,"  said  Grayson 
— u  we  have  no  ammunition  to  spare  in  that  way.     Bitf 
I  have  a  notion  that  may  prove  of  profit.     Where  is  the 
captain's  straw  man — here,  Granger,  bring  out  Dug 
dale's  trainer." 

The  stuffed  figure  already  described  was  brought 
forward,  the  window  looking  in  the  direction  of  the 
grove  supposed  to  shelter  the  savages  thrown  open, 
and  the  perfectly  indifferent  head  of  the  automaton 
thrust  incontinently  through  the  opening.     The  ruse 


172  THE    YEMASSEE. 

was  completely  successful.  The  foe  could  not  well 
resist  this  temptation,  and  a  flight  of  arrows,  penetra. 
ting  the  figure  in  every  portion  of  its  breast  and  face, 
attested  the  presence  of  the  enemy  and  the  truth  of  his 
aim.  A  wild  and  shivering  cry  rung  through  the 
forest  at  the  same  instant — that  cry,  well  known  as  the 
fearful  war-whoop,  the  sound  of  which  made  the  mar* 
row  curdle  in  the  bones  of  the  frontier  settler,  and 
prompted  the  mother  with  a  nameless  terror  to  hug 
closer  to  her  bosom  the  form  of  her  unconscious  infant. 
It  was  at  once  answered  from  side  to  side,  wherevei 
their  several  parties  had  been  stationed,  and  it  struck 
terror  even  into  the  sheltered  garrison  which  heard  it 
— such  terror  as  the  traveller  feels  by  night,  when  the 
shrill  rattle  of  the  lurking  serpent,  with  that  ubiquity 
of  sound  which  is  one  of  its  fearful  features,  vibrates 
all  around  him,  leaving  him  at  a  loss  to  say  in  what 
quarter  his  enemy  lies  in  waiting,  and  teaching  him  to 
dread  that  the  very  next  step  which  he  takes  may 
place  him  within  that  coil  which  is  death. 

"Ay,  there  they  are,  sure  enough — fifty  of  them  at 
least,  and  we  shall  have  them  upon  us,  after  this,  mon- 
strous quick,  in  some  way  or  other,"  was  the  speech 
of  Grayson,  while  a  brief  pause  in  all  the  party  marked 
the  deep  influence  upon  them  of  the  summons  which 
they  had  heard. 

"  True — and  we  must  be  up  and  doing,"  said  the 
smith ;  "  we  can  now  give  them  a  shot,  Hugh  Gray- 
son, for  they  will  dance  out  from  the  cover  now,  think- 
ing they  have  killed  one  of  us.  The  savages — they 
have  thrown  away  some  of  their  powder  at  least." 
As  Grimstead  spoke,  he  drew  three  arrows  with  no 
small  difficulty  from  the  bosom  of  the  figure  in  which 
they  were  buried. 

"  Better  there  than  in  our  ribs.  But  you  are  right. 
Stand  back  for  a  moment,  and  let  me  have  that  loop 
— I  shall  waste  no  shot.  Ha  !  I  see — there  is  one — 
I  see  his  arm  and  the  edge  of  his  hatchet — it  rests 
upon  his  shoulder,  I  reckon,  but  that  is  concealed  by 
the  brush.     He  moves — he  comes  out,  and  slaps  his 


THE    YEMASSEE.  173 

hand  against  his  thigh.  The  red  devil,  but  he  shall 
have  it.  Get  ready,  now,  each  at  his  loop,  for  if  I  hurt 
him  they  will  rush  out  in  a  fury." 

The  sharp  click  of  the  cock  followed  the  words  of 
Grayson,  who  was  an  able  shot,  and  the  next  moment 
the  full  report  came  burdened  with  a  dozen  echoes  from 
the  crowding  woods  around.     A  cry  of  pain — then  a 
shout  of  fury,  and  the  reiterated  whoop  followed;  and 
as  one  of  their  leaders  reeled  and  sunk  under  the  un- 
erring bullet,  the  band  in  that  station,  as  had  been  pre- 
dicted by  Grayson,  rushed  forth  to  where  he  stood, 
brandishing  their  weapons  with  ineffectual  fury,  and 
lifting  their  wounded   comrade,  as    is    their  general 
custom,  to  bear  him  to  a  place  of  concealment,  and 
preserve  him  from  being  scalped,  by  secret  burial,  in 
the  event  of  his  being  dead.     They  paid  for  their  te- 
merity.    Following  the  direction  of  their  leader,  whose 
decision   necessarily  commanded  their  obedience,  the 
Carolinians  took  quite  as  much  advantage  of  the  ex- 
posure of  their  enemies,  as  the  number  of  the  loop- 
holes  in  that  quarter  of  the   building  would   admit. 
Five  muskets  told  among  the  group,  and  a  reiterated 
shout  of  fury  indicated  the  good  service  which  the  dis- 
charge had  done,  and  taught  the  savages  a  lesson  of 
prudence,  which,  in   the   present    instance,  they  had 
been  too  ready  to  disregard.     They  sunk  back  into 
cover,  taking  care  however  to  remove  their  hurt  com- 
panions, so  that,  save  by  the  peculiar  cry  which  with 
them  marks  a  loss,  the  garrison  were  unable  to  deter 
mine  what  had  been  the  success  of  their  discharges 
Having  driven  them  back  into  the  brush,  however,  with- 
out loss  to  themselves,  the  latter  were  now  sanguine 
where,  before,  their  confined  and  cheerless  position 
had  taught  them  a  feeling  of  despondency  not  calcula- 
ted to  improve  the  comforts  of  their  case. 

The  Indians  had  made  their  arrangements  on  the 
other  hand  with  no  little  precaution.  But  they  had 
been  deceived  and  disappointed.  Their  scouts,  who 
had  previously  inspected  the  fortress,  had  given  a  very 
different  account  of  the  defences  and  the  watchfulness 


174  THE    YEMASSEE. 

of  their  garrison,  to  what  was  actually  the  fact  upon 
their  appearance.  The  scouts,  however,  had  spoken 
truth,  and  but  for  the  discovery  made  by  Hector,  the 
probability  is  that  the  Block  House  would  have  been 
surprised  with  little  or  no  difficulty.  Accustomed  to 
obey  Harrison  as  their  only  leader,  the  foresters  pres- 
ent never  dreamed  of  preparation  for  conflict  unless 
under  his  guidance  ;  and  but  for  the  advice  of  the 
trader's  wife,  and  the  confident  assumption  of  com- 
mand on  the  part  of  Walter  Grayson,  a  confusion  of 
councils,  not  less  than  of  tongues,  would  have  neutral- 
ized all  action,  and  left  them  an  easy  prey,  without 
head  or  direction,  to  the  knives  of  their  insidious 
enemy.  Calculating  upon  surprise  and  cunning  as  the 
only  means  by  which  they  could  hope  to  balance  the 
numerous  advantages  possessed  by  European  war- 
fare over  their  own,  the  Indians  had  relied  rather 
more  on  the  suddenness  of  their  onset,  and  the  craft 
peculiar  to  their  education,  than  on  the  force  of  their 
valour.  They  felt  themselves  baffled,  therefore,  in 
their  main  hope,  by  the  sleepless  caution  of  the  gar- 
rison, and  now  prepared  themselves  for  other  means. 
They  had  made  their  disposition  of  force  with  no  little 
judgment.  Small  bodies,  at  equal  distances,  under 
cover,  had  been  stationed  all  about  the  fortress.  With 
the  notes  of  the  whippoorwill  they  had  carried  on  their 
signals,  and  indicated  the  several  stages  of  their  prep- 
aration ;  while,  in  addition  to  this,  another  band — a 
sort  of  forlorn  hope,  consisting  of  the  more  desperate, 
who  had  various  motives  for  signalizing  their  valour — 
creeping  singly,  from  cover  to  cover,  now  reposing  in 
the  shadow  of  a  log  along  the  ground,  now  half  buried 
in  a  clustering  bush,  made  their  way  at  length  so 
closely  under  the  walls  of  the  log  house  as  to  be  com- 
pletely concealed  from  the  garrison,  which,  unless  by 
the  window,  had  no  mode  of  looking  directly  down 
upon  them.  As  the  windows  were  well  watched  by 
their  comrades — having  once  attained  their  place  of 
concealment — it  followed  that  their  position  remained 
entirely  concealed  from  those  within.     They  lay  in 


THE    VEMASSEE.  175 

waiting  for  the  favourable  moment — silent  as  the  grave, 
and  sleepless — ready,  when  the  garrison  should  deter- 
mine upon  a  sally,  to  fall  upon  their  rear,  and  in 
the  meanwhile  quietly  preparing  dry  fuel  in  quantity, 
gathered  from  time  to  time,  and  piling  it  against  the 
logs  of  the  fortress,  they  prepared  thus  to  fire  the 
defences  that  shut  them  out  from  their  prey. 

There  was  yet  another  mode  of  finding  entrance, 
which  has  been  partially  glimpsed  at  already.  The 
scouts  had  done  their  office  diligently  in  more  than  the 
required  respects.  Finding  a  slender  pine  twisted  by 
a  late  storm,  and  scarcely  sustained  by  a  fragment  of 
its  shaft,  they  applied  fire  to  the  rich  turpentine  oozing 
from  the  wounded  part  of  the  tree,  and  carefully  direct- 
ing its  fall,  as  it  yielded  to  the  fire,  they  lodged  its  ex- 
tremest  branches,  as  we  have  already  seen,  against  the 
wall  of  the  Block  House  and  just  beneath  the  window! — 
the  only  one  looking  from  that  quarter  of  the  fortress. 
Three  of  the  bravest  of  their  warriors  were  assigned 
for  scaling  this  point  and  securing  their  entrance,  and 
the  attack  was  forborne  by  the  rest  of  the  band,  while 
their  present  design,  upon  which  they  built  greatly,  was 
in  progress. 

Let  us  then  turn  to  this  quarter.  We  have  already 
seen  that  the  dangers  of  this  position  were  duly  estima- 
ted by  Grayson,  under  the  suggestion  of  Granger's 
wife.  Unhappily  for  its  defence,  the  fate  of  the  lad- 
der prevented  that  due  attention  to  the  subject,  at  first, 
which  had  been  imperatively  called  for ;  and  the  sub- 
sequent excitement  following  the  discovery  of  the  im- 
mediate proximity  of  the  Indians,  had  turned  the  con- 
sideration of  the  defenders  to  the  opposite  end  of  the 
building,  from  whence  the  partial  attack  of  the  enemy, 
as  described,  had  come.  It  is  true  that  the  workmen 
were  yet  busy  with  the  ladder ;  but  the  assault  had  sus- 
pended their  operations,  in  the  impatient  curiosity  which 
such  an  event  would  necessarily  induce,  even  in  the 
bosom  of  fear. 

The  wife  of  Grayson,  fully  conscious  of  the  danger, 
was  alone  sleepless  in  that  apartment.  The  rest  of  the. 
34 


176  THE    YEMASSEE. 

women,  scarcely  apprehensive  of  attack  at  all,  and  per- 
fectly ignorant  of  the  present  condition  of  affairs,  with 
all  that  heedlessness  which  marks  the  unreflecting 
character,  had  sunk  to  the  repose,  without  an  effort  at 
watchfulness,  which  previous  fatigues  had,  perhaps, 
made  absolutely  necessary.  She  alone  sat  thoughtful 
and  silent,  musing  over  present  prospects — perhaps  of 
the  past — but  still  unforgetful  of  the  difficulties  and 
the  dangers  before  her.  With  a  calm  temper  she 
awaited  the  relief  which,  with  the  repair  of  the  ladder, 
she  looked  for  from  below.  In  the  meantime,  hearing 
something  of  the  alarm,  together  with  the  distant  war- 
whoop,  she  had  looked  around  her  for  some  means  of 
defence,  in  the  event  of  any  attempt  being  made  upon 
the  window  before  the  aid  promised  could  reach  her. 
But  a  solitary  weapon  met  her  eye,  in  the  long  heavy 
hatchet,  a  clumsy  instrument,  rather  more  like  the  clea- 
ver of  the  butcher  than  the  light  and  slender  toma- 
hawk so  familiar  to  the  Indians.  Having  secured 
this,  with  the  composure  of  that  courage  which  had 
been  in  great  part  taught  her  by  the  necessities  of 
fortune,  she  prepared  to  do  without  other  assistance, 
and  to  forego  the  sentiment  of  dependance,  which  is 
perhaps  one  of  the  most  marked  characteristics  of  her 
sex.  Calmly  looking  round  upon  the  sleeping  and 
defenceless  crowd  about  her,  she  resumed  her  seat 
upon  a  low  bench  in  a  corner  of  the  apartment,  from 
which  she  had  risen  to  secure  the  hatchet,  and,  extin- 
guishing the  only  light  in  the  room,  fixed  her  eye 
upon  the  accessible  window,  while  every  thought  of 
her  mind  prepared  her  for  the  danger  which  was  at 
hand.  She  had  not  long  been  seated  when  she  fancied 
that  she  heard  a  slight  rustling  of  the  branches  of  the 
fallen  tree  just  beneath  the  window.  She  could  not 
doubt  her  senses,  and  her  heart  swelled  and  throbbed 
with  the  consciousness  of  approaching  danger.  But 
still  she  was  firm — her  spirit  grew  more  confirmed 
with  the  coming  trial ;  and  coolly  throwing  the  slip- 
pers from  her  feet,  grasping  firmly  her  hatchet  at  the 
same  time,  she  softly  arose,  and  keeping  close  in  the 


THE    YEMASSEE.  177 

shadow  of  the  wall,  she  made  her  way  to  a  recess,  a 
foot  or  so  from  the  entrance,  to  which  it  was  evident 
some  one  was  cautiously  approaching  along  the  atten- 
uated body  of  the  yielding  pine.  In  a  few  moments 
and  a  shadow  darkened  the  opening.  She  edged 
more  closely  to  the  point,  and  prepared  for  the  intru- 
der. She  now  beheld  the  head  of  the  enemy — a  fierce 
and  foully  painted  savage — the  war-tuft  rising  up  into  a 
ridge,  something  like  a  comb,  and  his  face  smeared 
with  colours  in  a  style  the  most  ferociously  grotesque. 
Still  she  could  not  strike,  for,  as  he  had  not  penetrated 
the  window,  and  as  its  entrance  was  quite  too  small 
to  enable  her  to  strike  with  any  hope  of  success  at 
any  distance  through  it,  she  felt  that  it  would  be  folly  ; 
and  though  excited  with  doubt  and  determination  alike, 
she  saw  the  error  of  any  precipitation.  But,  the  next 
moment,  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  sill  of  the  window, 
the  better  to  raise  himself  to  his  level.  In  that  instant 
she  struck  at  the  broad  arm  lying  across  the  wood. 
The  blow  was  given  with  all  her  force,  and  would  cer- 
tainly have  separated  the  hand  from  the  arm  had  it 
taken  effect.  But  the  quick  eye  of  the  Indian  caught 
a  glimpse  of  her  movement  at  the  very  moment  in 
which  it  was  made,  and  the  hand  was  withdrawn  be- 
fore the  hatchet  descended.  The  steel  sunk  deep  into 
the  soft  wood — so  deeply  that  she  could  not  disen- 
gage it.  To  try  at  this  object  would  have  exposed 
her  at  once  to  his  weapon,  and  leaving  it  where  it 
stuck,  she  sunk  back  again  into  shadow. 

What  now  was  she  to  do  ?  To  stay  where  she  was 
would  be  of  little  avail ;  but  to  cry  out  and  to  fly,  equally 
unproductive  of  good,  besides  warning  the  enemy  of 
the  defencelessness  of  their  condition,  and  thus  inviting 
a  renewal  of  the  attack.  The  thought  came  to  her  with 
the  danger,  and,  without  a  word,  she  maintained  her  po- 
sition, in  waiting  for  the  progress  of  events.  As  the 
Indian  had  also  sunk  from  sight,  and  some  moments  had 
now  elapsed  without  his  reappearance,  she  determined 
to  make  another  effort  for  the  recovery  of  the  hatchet. 
She  grasped  it  by  the  handle,  and  in  the  next  moment 


178  THE    YEMASSEE. 

the  hand  of  the  savage  was  upon  her  own.  He  felt  thai 
it  was  that  of  a  woman,  and  in  a  brief  word  and  some- 
thing of  a  chuckle,  while  he  still  maintained  his  hold 
on  it,  conveyed  intelligence  of  the  fact  to  those  below. 
But  it  was  a  woman  with  a  man's  spirit  with  whom  he 
contended,  and  her  endeavour  was  successful  to  dis- 
engage herself.  The  same  success  did  not  attend  her 
effort  to  recover  the  weapon.  In  the  brief  struggle  with 
her  enemy  it  had  become  disengaged  from  the  wood, 
and  while  both  strove  to  seize  it,  it  slipped  from  their 
mutual  hands,  and  sliding  over  the  sill,  in  another  in- 
stant was  heard  rattling  through  the  intervening  bushes. 
Descending  upon  the  ground  below,  it  became  the 
spoil  of  those  without,  whose  murmurs  of  gratulation 
she  distinctly  heard.  But  now  came  the  tug  of  diffi- 
culty. The  Indian,  striving  at  the  entrance,  neces- 
sarily encouraged  by  the  discovery  that  his  opponent 
was  not  a  man,  and  assured,  at  the  same  time,  by  the 
forbearance,  on  the  part  of  those  within,  to  strike  him 
effectually  down  from  the  tree,  now  resolutely  endeav- 
oured to  effect  his  entrance.  His  head  was  again  fully 
in  sight  of  the  anxious  woman — then  his  shoulders,  and 
at  length,  resting  his  hand  upon  the  sill,  he  strove  to 
elevate  himself  by  its  muscular  strength,  so  as  to  se- 
cure him  sufficient  purchase  for  the  object  at  which 
he  aimed.  What  could  she  do — weaponless,  hope- 
less ?  The  prospect  was  startling  and  terrible  enougli ; 
but  she  was  a  strong-minded  woman,  and  impulse 
served  her  when  reflection  would  most  probably  have 
taught  her  to  fly.  She  had  but  one  resource  ;  and  as 
the  Indian  gradually  thrust  one  hand  forward  for  the 
hold  upon  the  sill,  and  raised  the  other  up  to  the  side 
of  the  window,  she  grasped  the  one  nighest  to  her 
own.  She  grasped  it  firmly  and  to  advantage,  as,  hav- 
ing lifted  himself  on  tiptoe  for  the  purpose  of  ascent, 
he  had  necessarily  lost  much  of  the  control  which  a 
secure  hold  for  his  feet  must  have  given  him.  Her 
grasp  sufficiently  assisted  him  forward,  to  lessen  still 
more  greatly  the  security  of  his  feet,  while,  at  the 
same  time,  though  bringing  him  still  farther  into  the 


THE    YEMASSEE.  179 

apartment,  placing  him  in  such  a  position  as  to  defeat 
much  of  the  muscular  exercise  which  his  limbs  would 
have  possessed  in  any  other  situation.  Her  weapon 
now  would  have  been  all-important ;  and  the  strong 
woman  mentally  deplored  the  precipitancy  with  which 
she  had  acted  in  the  first  instance,  and  which  had  so 
unhappily  deprived  her  of  its  use.  But  self-reproach 
was  unavailing  now,  and  she  was  satisfied  if  she  could 
retain  her  foe  in  his  present  position,  by  which,  keep- 
ing him  out,  or  in  and  out,  as  she  did,  she  necessarily 
excluded  all  other  foes  from  the  aperture  which  he  so 
completely  filled  up.  The  intruder,  though  desirous 
enough  of  entrance  before,  was  rather  reluctant  to  ob- 
tain it  now,  under  existing  circumstances.  He  strove 
desperately  to  effect  a  retreat,  but  had  advanced  too 
far,  however,  to  be  easily  successful ;  and,  in  his  con- 
fusion and  disquiet,  he  spoke  to  those  below  in  their 
own  language,  explaining  his  difficulty  and  directing 
their  movement  to  his  assistance.  A  sudden  rush  along 
the  tree  indicated  to  the  conscious  sense  of  the  woman 
the  new  danger,  in  the  approach  of  additional  enemies, 
who  must  not  only  sustain  but  push  forward  the  one 
with  whom  she  contended.  This  warned  her  at  once 
of  the  necessity  of  some  sudden  procedure,  if  she  hoped 
to  do  any  thing  for  her  own  and  the  safety  of  those 
around  her,  whom,  amid  all  the  contest,  she  had  never 
once  alarmed.  Putting  forth  all  her  strength,  there- 
fore, though  nothing  in  comparison  with  that  of  him 
whom  she  opposed,  had  he  been  in  a  condition  to 
exert  it,  she  strove  to  draw  him  still  farther  across 
the  entrance,  so  as  to  exclude,  if  possible,  the  approach 
of  those  coming  behind  him.  She  hoped  to  gain  time 
— sufficient  time  for  those  preparing  the  ladder  to  come 
to  her  relief;  and  with  this  hope,  for  the  first  time,  she 
called  aloud  to  Grayson  and  her  husband.  The  Indian, 
in  the  meanwhile,  derived  the  support  for  his  person  as 
well  from  the  grasp  of  the  woman,  as  from  his  own 
hold  upon  the  sill  of  the  window.  Her  effort  neces- 
sarily drawing  him  still  farther  forward,  placed  him  so 
completely  in  the  way  of  his  allies  that  they  could  do 
34* 


180  THE    YEMASS-EK. 

him  little  service  while  things  remained  in  this  situa- 
tion ;  and,  to  complete  the  difficulties  of  his  predica- 
ment, while  they  busied  themselves  in  several  efforts 
at  his  extrication,  the  branches  of  the  little  tree,  rest- 
ing against  the  dwelling,  yielding  suddenly  to  the  un- 
usual weight  upon  it — trembling  and  sinking  away  at 
last — cracked  beneath  the  burden,  and  snapping  off 
from  their  several  holds,  fell  from  under  them,  dragging 
against  the  building  in  their  progress  down,  thus  break- 
ing their  fall,  and  finally  settling  heavily  upon  the 
ground.  Down  went  the  three  savages  who  had  so 
readily  ascended  to  the  assistance  of  their  comrade — 
bruised  and  very  much  hurt ; — while  he,  now  without 
any  support  but  that  which  he  derived  from  the  sill, 
and  what  little  his  feet  could  secure  from  the  irregular 
crevices  between  the  logs  of  which  the  house  had  been 
built,  was  hung  in  air,  unable  to  advance  except  at  the 
will  of  his  woman  opponent,  and  dreading  a  far  worse 
fall  from  his  eminence  than  that  which  had  already 
happened  to  his  allies.  Desperate  with  his  situation, 
he  thrust  his  arm,  as  it  was  still  held  by  the  woman, 
still  farther  into  the  window,  and  thus  enabled  her  with 
both  hands  to  secure  and  strengthen  the  grasp  which 
she  had  originally  taken  upon  it.  This  she  did  with 
a  new  courage,  and  strength  derived  from  the  voices 
below,  by  which  she  understood  a  promise  of  assist- 
ance. Excited  and  nerved,  she  drew  the  extended 
arm  of  ihe  Indian,  in  spite  of  all  his  struggles,  directly 
ovei  the  sill,  so  as  to  turn  the  elbow  completely  down 
upon  it.  With  her  whole  weight  employed,  bending 
down  to  the  floor  to  strengthen  herself  to  the  task, 
she  pressed  the  arm  across  the  window  until  her  ears 
heard  the  distinct,  clear,  crack  of  the  bone — until  she 
heard  the  groan,  and  felt  the  awful  struggles  of  the  suf- 
fering wretch,  twisting  himself  round  with  all  his  effort 
to  obtain  for  it  a  natural  and  relaxed  position,  and,  with 
this  object,  leaving  his  hold  upon  every  thing,  only  sus- 
tained, indeed,  by  the  grasp  of  his  enemy.  But  the 
movement  of  the  woman  had  been  quite  too  sudden,  her 
nerves  too  firm,  and  her  strength  too  great  to  suffer  him 


THE    YEMASSEE.  181 

to  succeed.  The  jagged  splinters  of  the  broken  limb 
were  thrust  up,  lacerating  and  tearing  through  flesh  and 
skin,  while  a  howl  of  the  acutest  agony  attested  the  se- 
verity of  that  suffering  which  could  extort  such  an  ac- 
knowledgment from  the  American  savage.  He  fainted 
in  his  pain,  and  as  the  weight  increased  upon  her 
arm,  the  nature  of  her  sex  began  to  resume  its  sway. 
With  a  shudder  of  every  fibre,  she  released  her  hold, 
upon  him.  The  effort  of  her  soul  was  over — a  strange 
sickness  came  upon  her,  and  she  was  just  conscious  of 
a  crashing  fall  of  the  heavy  body  among  the  branches 
at  the  foot  of  the  Avindow,  when  she  staggered  back, 
fainting,  into  the  arms  of  her  husband,  who,  just  at  that 
moment,  ascended  to  her  relief. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

"He  shouts,  he  strikes,  he  falls — his  fields  are  o'er  ; 
He  dies  in  triumph,  and  he  asks  no  more." 

These  slight  defeats  were  sufficiently  annoying  in 
themselves  to  the  invaders — they  were  more  so  as 
they  proved  not  only  the  inadequacy  of  their  present 
mode  of  assault,  but  the  watchfulness  of  the  belea- 
guered garrison.  Their  hope  had  been  to  take  the 
borderers  by  surprise.  Failing  to  succeed  in  this,  they 
were  now  thrown  all  aback.  Their  fury  was  conse- 
quently more  than  ever  exaggerated  by  their  losses, 
and  rushing  forward  in  their  desperation,  through,  and 
in  defiance  of,  the  fire  from  the  Carolinians,  the  greater 
number  placed  themselves  beneath  the  line  of  pickets 
with  so  much  celerity  as  to  baffle,  in  most  respects,  the 
aim  of  the  defenders.  A  few  remained  to  bear  away 
the  wounded  and  slain  to  a  place  of  safe  shelter  in 
the  thick  woods,  while  the  rest  lay,  either  in  quiet 
under  the  walls  of  the  Block  House,  secure  there  from 
the  fire  of  the  garrison,  or  amused  themselves  in  una- 


182  THE    YEMASSEE. 

vailing  cries  of  sarcasm  to  those  within,  while  impo- 
tently  expending  blows  upon  the  insensible  logs  be- 
tween them.  The  elder  Grayson,  who  directed  solely 
the  movements  of  the  beleaguered,  was  not  unwilling 
that  the  assailants  should  amuse  themselves  after  this 
fashion,  as  the  delay  of  the  Indians  was  to  them  the 
gain  of  time,  which  was  all  they  could  expect  at  such 
a  period,  and  perhaps  in  a  predatory  warfare  like  the 
present,  all  they  could  desire. 

But  Ishiagaska  with  his  force  now  came  upon  the 
scene,  and  somewhat  changed  the  aspect  of  affairs. 
He  took  the  entire  command,  reinvigorated  their  efforts, 
and  considerably  altered  the  mode  and  direction  of 
attack.  He  was  a  subtle  partisan,  and  the  conse- 
quences of  his  appearance  were  soon  perceptible  in  the 
development  of  events.  The  force  immediately  be- 
neath the  walls,  and  secure  from  the  shot  of  the  garri- 
son, were  reinforced,  and  in  so  cautious  a  manner, 
that  the  Carolinians  were  entirely  ignorant  of  their 
increased  strength  in  that  quarter.  Creeping,  as  they 
did,  from  bush  to  bush: — now  lying  prone  and  silent 
to  the  ground,  in  utter  immobility — now  rushing,  as 
circumstances  prompted,  with  all  rapidity — they  put 
themselves  into  cover,  crossing  the  intervening  space 
without  the  loss  of  a  man.  Having  thus  gathered  in 
force  beneath  the  walls  of  the  fortress,  the  greater 
number,  while  the  rest  watched,  proceeded  to  gather 
up  in  piles,  as  they  had  begun  to  do  before,  immense 
quantities  of  the  dry  pine  trash  and  the  gummy  turpen- 
tine wood  which  the  neighbourhood  readily  afforded. 
This  they  clustered  in  thick  masses  around  the  more 
accessible  points  of  the  pickets  ;  and  the  first  inti- 
mation which  the  garrison  had  of  their  proceeding 
was  a  sudden  gust  of  flame,  blazing  first  about  the  gate 
of  the  area,  on  one  side  of  the  Block  House,  then  rush- 
ing from  point  to  point  with  amazing  rapidity,  sweep- 
ing and  curling  widely  around  the  building  itself. 
The  gate,  and  the  pickets  all  about  it,  studiously 
made  as  they  had  been  of  the  rich  pine,  for  its  great 
durability,  was  as  ready  an  ally  of  the  destructive  ele- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  183 

ment  as  the  Indians  could  have  chosen ;  and,  licked 
greedily  by  the  fire,  were  soon  ignited.  Blazing  im- 
petuously, it  soon  aroused  the  indwellers  to  a  more 
acute  consciousness  of  the  danger  now  at  hand.  A 
fierce  shout  of  their  assailants,  as  they  beheld  the  rapid 
progress  of  the  experiment,  warned  them  to  greater  ex- 
ertion if  they  hoped  to  escape  the  dreadful  fate  which 
threatened  to  ingulf  them.  To  remain  where  they 
were,  was  to  be  consumed  in  the  flames  ;  to  rush  forth, 
was  to  encounter  the  tomahawks  of  an  enemy  four 
times  their  number. 

It  was  a  moment  of  gloomy  necessity,  that  which 
assembled  the  chief  defenders  of  the  fortress  to  a  sort 
of  war-council.  They  could  only  deliberate — to  fight 
was  out  of  the  question.  Their  enemy  now  was  one 
to  whom  they  could  oppose 


■  Nor  subtle  wile, 


Nor  arbitration  strong." 

The  Indians  showed  no  front  for  assault  or  aim, 
while  the  flames,  rushing  from  point  to  point,  and  seiz- 
ing upon  numerous  places  at  once,  continued  to  ad- 
vance with  a  degree  of  celerity  which  left  it  impossi- 
ble, in  the  dry  condition  of  its  timber,  that  the  Block 
House  could  possibly,  for  any  length  of  time,  escape. 
Upon  the  building  itself  the  savages  could  not  fix  the 
fire  at  first.  But  two  ends  of  it  were  directly  accessi- 
ble to  them,  and  these  were  without  any  entrance,  had 
been  pierced  with  holes  for  musketry,  and  were  well 
watched  by  the  vigilant  eyes  within.  The  two  sides 
were  enclosed  by  the  line  of  pickets,  and  had  no  need 
of  other  guardianship.  The  condition  of  affairs  was 
deplorable.  The  women  wept  and  prayed,  the  chil- 
dren screamed,  and  the  men,  gathering  generally  in 
the  long  apartment  of  the  lower  story,  with  heavy 
hearts  and  solemn  faces,  proceeded  to  ask  counsel  of 
jach  other  in  the  last  resort.  Some  lay  around  on  the 
loose  plank — here  and  there  along  the  floor  a  bearskin 
formed  the  place  of  rest  for  a  huge  and  sullen  warrior, 
vexed  with  the  possession  of  strength  which  he  was 

I 


184  THE    YEMASSEE. 

not  permitted  to  employ.  A  few  watched  at  the  mus- 
ket holes,  and  others  busied  themselves  in  adjusting 
all  things  for  the  final  necessity,  so  far  as  their  thoughts 
or  fancies  could  possibly  divine  its  shape. 

The  principal  men  of  the  garrison  were  gathered  in 
the  centre  of  the  hall,  sitting  with  downcast  heads  and 
fronting  one  another,  along  two  of  the  uncovered  sleep- 
ers ;  their  muskets  resting  idly  between  their  legs, 
their  attitudes  and  general  expression  of  abandon  sig- 
nifying clearly  the  due  increase  of  apprehension  in 
their  minds  with  the  progress  of  the  flames.  Broad 
flashes  of  light  from  the  surrounding  conflagration 
illuminated,  but  could  not  enliven,  the  sombre  character 
of  that  grouping.  A  general  pause  ensued  after  their 
assemblage — none  seeming  willing  or  able  to  offer 
counsel,  and  Grayson  himself,  the  brave  forester  in 
command,  evidently  at  fault,  in  the  farther  business  be- 
fore them.  Nichols  was  the  only  man  to  break  the 
silence,  which  he  did  in  his  usual  manner. 

"And  why,  my  friends,  are  we  here  assembled V* 
was  his  sagacious  inquiry,  looking  round  as  he  spoke 
upon  his  inattentive  coadjutors.  A  forced  smile  on 
the  faces  of  several,  but  not  a  word,  attested  their 
several  estimates  of  the  speaker.     He  proceeded. 

"That  is  the  question,  my  friends — why  are  we 
here  assembled  ?  I  answer,  for  the  good  of  the  people. 
We  are  here  to  protect  them  if  we  can,  and  to  perish 
for  and  with  them  if  we  must.  I  cannot  forget  my 
duties  to  my  country,  and  to  those  in  whose  behalf  I 
stand  before  the  hatchet  of  the  Indian,  and  the  cannon 
of  the  Spaniard.  These  teach  me,  and  I  would  teach 
it  to  you,  my  friends — to  fight,  to  hold  out  to  the  last. 
We  may  not  think  of  surrender,  my  friends,  until  other 
hope  is  gone.  Whatever  be  the  peril,  till  that  mo- 
ment be  it  mine  to  encounter  it — whatever  be  the  priva* 
tion,  till  that  moment  I  am  the  man  to  endure  it.  Be 
it  for  me,  at  least,  though  I  stand  alone  in  this  particu- 
lar, to  do  for  the  people  whatever  wisdom  or  valour 
may  do  until  the  moment  comes  which  shall  call  on 
us  for  surrender.     The  question  now,  my  friends,  is 


THE    YEMASSEE.  185 

simply  this— has  that  moment  come  or  not?     I  pause 
for  a  reply."  t 

"Who  talks  of  surrender?"  growled  the  smith  as 
he  cast  a  glance  of  ferocity  to  the  speaker.  '<  Who 
talks  of  surrender  at  all,  to  these  cursed  bloodhounds  • 
the  red-skins  that  hunt  for  nothing  but  our  blood.  We 
cannot  surrender  if  we  would— we  must  fight,  die,  do 
any  thing  but  surrender  !" 

«  So  say  I— I  am  ready  to  fight  and  die  for  my 
country  I  say  it  now,  as  I  have  said  it  a  hundred 
times  before,  but—"  The  speech  which  Nichols  had 
thus  begun,  the  smith  again  interrupted  with  a  greater 
bull-dog  expression  than  ever. 

"Ay,  so  you  have,  and  so  will  say  a  hundred  times 
more— with  as  little  sense  in  it  one  time  as  another 
We  are  all  here  to  die,  if  there's  any  need  for  it;  but 
that  isn  t  the  trouble.  It's  how  we  are  to  die— that's 
the  question.  Are  we  to  stay  here  and  be  burnt  to 
death  like  timber-rats— to  sally  out  and  be  shot,  or  to 
volunteer,  as  I  do  now,  axe  in  hand,  to  go  out  and  cut 
down  the  pickets  that  immediately  join  the  .  house  1 
Uy  that  we  may  put  a  stop  to  the  fire,  and  then  we 
shall  have  a  clear  dig  at  the  savages  that  lie  behind 
them.  I  m  for  that.  If  anybody's  willing  to  go  along 
with  me  let  him  up  hands-no  talk— we  have  too 
much  of  that  already." 

"I'm  ready— here!"  cried  Grayson,  and  his  hands 
were  thrust  up  at  the  instant. 

"No,  Wat,"  cried  the  smith-" not  you— you  must 
stay  and  manage  here.  Your  head's  the  coolest,  and 
though  I  d  sooner  have  your  arm  alongside  of  me  in  the 
rough  time  than  any  other  two  that  I  know  of,  'twon't  do 
to  take  you  from  the  rest  on  this  risk.  Who  else  is 
ready?— let  him  come  to  the  scratch,  and  no  long  talk 
about  it  What  do  you  say,  Nichols?  that's  chance 
enough  for  you,  if  you  really  want  to  die  for  the  peo- 
ple. And  as  Gnmstead  spoke,  he  thrust  his  head 
orward  while  his  eyes  peered  into  the  very  bosom  of 
the  little  doctor,  and  his  axe  descended  to  the  joist 


186  THE    YEMASSEE. 

over  which  he  stood  with  a  thundering  emphasis  that 
rung  through  the  apartment. 

"  I  can't  use  the  axe,"  cried  Nichols,  hurriedly. 
"  It's  not  my  instrument.  Sword  or  pistol  for  me.  In 
their  exercise  I  give  way  to  no  man,  and  in  their  use 
I  ask  for  no  leader.  But  I  am  neither  woodman  nor 
blacksmith." 

"  And  this  is  your  way  of  dying  for  the  good  of  the 
people  !"  said  the  smith,  contemptuously. 

"  I  am  willing  even  now — I  say  it  again,  as  I  have 
before  said,  and  as  now  I  solemnly  repeat  it.  But  I 
must  die  for  them  after  my  own  fashion,  and  under 
proper  circumstances.  With  sword  in  hand,  crossing 
the  perilous  breach — with  weapon  befitting  the  use  of 
a  noble  gentleman,  I  am  ready ;  but  I  know  not  any 
rule  in  patriotism  that  would  require  of  me  to  perish 
for  my  country  with  the  broad-axe  of  a  wood-chopper, 
the  cleaver  of  a  butcher,  or  the  sledge  of  a  blacksmith 
in  my  hands." 

"  Well,  I'm  no  soldier,"  retorted  the  smith  ;  "  but  I 
think  a  man,  to  be  really  willing  to  die  for  his  country, 
shouldn't  be  too  nice  as  to  which  way  he  does  it. 
Now  the  sword  and  the  pistol  are  of  monstrous  little  use 
here.  The  muskets  from  these  holes  above  and  below 
will  keep  off  the  Indians,  while  a  few  of  us  cut  down 
the  stakes ;  so,  now,  men,  as  time  grows  short,  Gray- 
son, you  let  the  boys  keep  a  sharp  look-out  with  the 
ticklers,  and  I'll  for  the  timber,  let  him  follow  who  will. 
There  are  boys  enough,  I  take  it,  to  go  with  Dick 
Grimstead,  though  they  may  none  of  them  be  very 
anxious  to  die  for  their  country." 

Thus  saying,  and  having  received  the  sanction  of 
Grayson  to  this,  the  only  project  from  which  any  thing 
could  be  expected,  the  blacksmith  pushed  forward, 
throwing  open  the  door  leading  to  the  area  which  the 
fire  in  great  part  now  beleaguered — while  Grayson 
made  arrangements  to  command  the  ground  with  his 
musketry,  and  to  keep  the  entrance,  thus  opened  for 
Grimstead  and  his  party,  with  his  choicest  men.  The 
blacksmith  was  one  of  those  blunt,  burly  fellows,  who 


THE    YEMASSEE.  187 

take  with  the  populace.     It  was  not  difficult  for  him 
to  procure  three  men  where  twenty  were  ready.     They 
had  listened  with  much  sympathy  to  the  discussion 
narrated,   and   as  the   pomposity  and  assumption  of 
Nichols  had  made  him  an  object  of  vulgar  ridicule,  a 
-  desire  to  rebuke  him,  not  less  than  a  willingness  to  go 
with  the  smith,  contributed  readily  to  persuade  them 
to  the  adventure.     In  a  few  moments  the  door  was 
unbarred,  and  the  party  sallied  forth  through  the  en- 
trance, which  was  kept  ajar  for  their  ingress,  and  well 
watched  by  half  a  dozen  of  the  stoutest  men  in  the 
garrison,  Grayson  at  their  head.     Nichols  went  above 
to  direct  the  musket-men,  while  his  mind  busied  itself 
in  conning  over  the  form  of  a  capitulation,  which  he 
thought  it  not  improbable  he  should  have  to  frame  with 
the  chiefs  of  the  besieging  army.     In  this  labour  he 
had  but  one  cause  of  vexation,  which  arose  from  the 
necessity  he  would  be  under,  in  enumerating  the  pris- 
oners, of  putting  himself  after  Grayson,  the  commander. 
In  the  meanwhile,  with   sleeves  rolled  up,   jacket 
off,  and  face    that    seemed   not   often  to   have    been 
entirely  free  from  the  begriming  blackness  of  his  pro- 
fession, Grimstead  commenced  his  tremendous  blows 
upon  the  contiguous  pickets,  followed  with  like  zeal, 
if  not  equal  power,  by  the  three  men  who  had  volun- 
teered  along   with   him.     Down  went  the  first   post 
beneath  his  arm,  and  as,  with  resolute  spirit,  he  was 
about  to  assail  another,  a  huge  Santee  warrior  stood  in 
the  gap  which  he  had  made,  and  with  a  powerful  blow  - 
from  the  mace  which  he  carried,  had  our  blacksmith 
been  less   observant,  would   have    soon   finished   his 
career.     But  Grimstead  was  a  man  of  agility  as  well 
as    strength  and   spirit,   and  leaping  aside   from  the 
stroke,  as  his  eye  rose  to  the  corresponding  glance 
from  that  of  his  enemy,  he  gave  due  warning  to  his 
axe-men,  who  forbore  their  strokes  under  his    com- 
mand.    The  aperture  was  yet  too  small  for  any  com- 
bat of  the  parties ;  and,  ignorant  of  the  force  against 
him,  surprised  also  at  their  appearance,  he  despatched 
one  of  his   men   to    Grayson,    and    gave    directions, 
35 


188  THE    YEMASSEE. 

which,  had  they  been  complied  with,  had  certainly 
given  them  the  advantage. 

"Now,  boys,  you  shall  have  fun — I  have  sent  for 
some  hand-to-hand  men  to  do  the  fighting,  while  we  do 
the  chopping, — and  Nichols,  who  loves  dying  so  much, 
can't  help  coming  along  with  them.  He's  the  boy  for 
sword  and  pistol — he's  no  woodcutter.  Well,  many  a 
better  chap  than  he's  had  to  chop  wood  for  an  honest 
living.  But  we'll  see  now  what  he  is  good  for.  Let 
him  come." 

"  Oh,  he's  all  flash  in  the  pan,  Grimstead.  His 
tongue  is  mustard-seed  enough,  but  it  'taint  the  shot. 
But  what's  that—  ?" 

The  speaker,  who  was  one  of  Grimstead's  comrades, 
might  well  ask,  for  first  a  crackling,  then  a  whirling 
crash,  announced  the  fall  at  length  of  the  huge  gate  to 
the  entrance  of  the  court.  A  volume  of  flame  and 
cinders,  rising  with  the  gust  which  it  created,  rushed 
up,  obscuring  for  a  moment  and  blinding  all  things 
around  it ;  but,  as  it  subsided,  the  Indians  lying  in  wait 
on  the  outside,  and  whom  no  smoke  could  blind,  leaped 
with  uplifted  tomahawks  through  the  blazing  ruins,  and 
pushed  forward  to  the  half-opened  entrance  of  the 
Block  House.  The  brave  blacksmith,  admirably  sup- 
ported, threw  himself  in  the  way,  and  was  singled  out 
by  the  huge  warrior  who  had  struck  at  him  through 
the  picket.  The  savage  was  brave  and  strong,  but  he 
had  his  match  in  the  smith,  whose  courage  was  indom- 
itable and  lively,  while  his  strength  was  surpassed 
by  that  of  few.  Wielding  his  axe  with  a  degree  of 
ease  that,  of  itself,  warned  the  enemy  what  he  had  to 
expect,  it  was  but  a  moment  before  the  Indian  gave 
way  before  him.  But  the  smith  was  not  disposed  to 
allow  a  mere  acknowledgment  of  his  superiority  to 
pass  for  a  victory.  He  pressed  him  back  upon  his 
comrades,  while  his  own  three  aids,  strong  and  gallant 
themselves,  following  his  example,  drove  the  intruders 
upon  the  blaze  which  flamed  voluminously  around  them. 
Already  a  severe  wound,  which  almost  severed  the 
arm  of  the  Santee  warrior  from  its  trunk,  had  confirmed 


THE    VF.MASSEE.  189 

the   advantage    gained  by  the  whites,   while    severe 
hatchet  wounds  had  diminished  not  a  little  the  courage 
of  his  Indian  fellows,  when,  of  a  sudden,  a  new  party 
came  upon  the  scene  of  combat,  changing  entirely  its 
face    and  character,   and  diminishing  still  more   the 
chances  of  the  Carolinians.     This  was  Chorley,  the 
captain  of  the  pirate.     Having  lodged  his  captives,  as 
we  have  seen,  in  a  little  hovel  on  the  river's  brink, 
under  a  small  guard  of  his  own  seamen,  he  had  pro- 
ceeded with  all  due  speed  upon  the  steps  of  Ishiagaska. 
He  arrived  opportunely  for  the  band  which  had  been 
placed  along  the  walls  of  the  Block  House,  in  ambush, 
and  whose  daring  had  at  length  carried  them  into  the 
outer  defences  of  the  fortress.     A  single  shot  from  one 
of  his  men  immediately  warned  the   smith  and  his 
brave    comrades    of   the    new    enemy    before    them, 
and    while    stimulating  afresh  the    courage    of  their 
savage  assailants,  it  materially  diminished  their  own. 
They   gave    back — the   three   survivers — one  of  the 
party  having  fallen  in  the  first  discharge.     The  Indians 
rushed  upon  them,  and  thus  throwing  themselves  be- 
tween, for  a  time  defeated  the  aim  of  Chorley's  mus- 
keteers.    Fighting  like  a  lion,  as  he  retreated  to  the 
door  of  the  Block  House,  the  brave  smith  continued 
to  keep  unharmed,  making   at  the   same   time  some 
little  employment  in   the   shape  of  ugly   wounds   to 
dress,  in   the  persons  of  his  rash  assailants.     Once 
mote  they  gave  back  before  him,  and  again  the  mus- 
ketry of  Chorley  was  enabled  to  tell  upon  him.     A 
discharge  from  the  Block  House  in  the  meantime  re- 
torted with  good  effect  the  attack  of  the  sailors,  and 
taught  a  lesson  of  caution  to  Chorley,  of  which  he  soon 
availed  himself.     Three  of  his  men  bit  the  dust  in  that 
single  fire ;  and  the  Indians,  suffering  more  severely, 
fled  at  the  discharge.     The  brave  smith  reached  the 
door  with  a  single  unwounded  follower,  himself  unhurt. 
His  comrades  threw  open  the  entrance  for  his  recep- 
tion, but  an  instant  too  late.     A  parting  shot  from  the 
muskets  of  the  seamen  was  made  with  a  fatal  effect. 
Grimstead  sunk  down  upon  the  threshold  as  the  bullet 


190  THE    YEMASSEE. 

passed  through  his  body — the  axe  fell  from  his  hand — 
he  grasped  at  it  convulsively,  and  lay  extended  in  part 
upon  the  sill  of  the  door,  when  Grayson  drew  him  in 
safety  within,  and  again  securely  closed  it. 

"  You  are  not  hurt,  Dick,  my  old  fellow,"  exclaimed 
Grayson,  his  voice  trembling  with  the  apprehensions 
which  he  felt. 

"  Hurt  enough,  Wat — bad  enough.  No  more  grist 
ground  at  that  mill.  But,  hold  in — don't  be  frightened 
— you  can  lick  'em  yet.  Ah,"  he  groaned,  in  a  mortal 
agony. 

They  composed  his  limbs,  and  pouring  some  spirits 
down  his  throat,  he  recovered  in  a  few  moments,  and 
convulsively  inquired  for  his  axe. 

"  I  wouldn't  lose  it — it  was  dad's  own  axe,  and  must 
go  to  brother  Tom  when  I  die." 

"  Die  indeed,  Dick — don't  think  of  such  a  thing," 
said  Grayson. 

"  I  don't,  Wat — I  leave  that  to  Nichols — but  get 
the  axe — ah  !  God — it's  here — here — where's  Tom  V 

His  brothei%  a  youth  of  sixteen,  came  down  to  him 
from  the  upper  apartment  where  he  had  been  stationed, 
and  kneeling  over  him,  tried  to  support  his  head — but 
the  blood  gushed  in  a  torrent  from  his  mouth.  He 
strove  to  speak,  but  choked  in  the  effort.  A  single 
convulsion,  which  turned  him  upon  his  face,  and  the 
struggle  was  all  over.  The  battles  of  the  smith  were 
done. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

''  A  last  blow  for  his  country,  and  he  dies, 
Surviving  not  the  ruin  he  must  see." 

The  force  brought  up  by  the  younger  Grayson,  and 
now  led  by  Harrison,  came  opportunely  to  the  relief 
of  the  garrison.     The  flames  had  continued  to  rage, 


THE    YEMASSEE.  191 

unrestrained,  so  rapidly  around  the  building,  that  its 
walls  were  at  length  greedily  seized  upon  by  the  furious 
element,  and  the  dense  smoke,  gathering  through  all  its 
apartments,  alone  was  sufficient  to  compel  the  retreat 
of  its  defenders.  Nothing  now  was  left  them  in  their 
desperation  but  to  sally  forth  even  upon  the  knives  and 
hatchets  of  their  merciless  and  expecting  foe  ;  and  for 
this  last  adventure,  so  full  of  danger,  so  utterly  wanting 
in  a  fair  promise  of  any  successful  result,  the  sturdy 
foresters  prepared.  Fortunately  for  this  movement,  it 
was  just  about  this  period  that  the  approach  of  Harri- 
son, with  his  party,  compelled  the  besiegers  to  change 
their  position,  in  order  the  better  to  contend  with  him  ; 
and,  however  reluctant  to  suffer  the  escape  of  those  so 
completely  in  their  power,  and  for  whose  destruction 
they  had  already  made  so  many  sacrifices  of  time  and 
life,  they  were  compelled  to  do  so  in  the  reasonable 
fear  of  an  assault  upon  two  sides — from  the  garrison 
before  them,  impelled  by  desperation,  and  from  the  foe 
in  their  rear,  described  by  their  scouts  as  in  rapid  ad- 
vance to  the  relief  of  the  Block  House.  The  command 
was  shared  jointly  between  Chorley  and  Ishiagaska. 
The  former  had  fared  much  worse  than  his  tawny 
allies ;  for,  not  so  well  skilled  in  the  artifices  of  land 
and  Indian  warfare,  seven  out  of  the  twenty  warriors 
whom  he  commanded  had  fallen  victims  in  the  prece- 
ding conflicts.  His  discretion  had  become  somewhat 
more  valuable,  therefore,  when  reminded  by  the  scanty 
force  remaining  under  his  command,  not  only  of  his 
loss,  but  of  his  present  weakness  ;  a  matter  of  no  little 
concern,  as  he  well  knew  that  his  Indian  allies,  in  their 
capricious  desperation,  might  not  be  willing  to  discrim- 
inate between  the  whites  who  had  befriended,  and  those 
who  had  been  their  foes. 

Thus,  counselled  by  necessity,  the  assailing  chiefs 
drew  off"  their  forces  from  the  Block  House,  and  sinking 
into  cover,  prepared  to  encounter  their  new  enemies, 
after  the  fashion  of  their  warfare.  Ignorant  in  the 
meantime  of  the  approach  of  Harrison  or  the  force 
under  him,  Grayson  wondered  much  at  this  movement 
35* 


192  THE    YEMASSEE. 

of  the  besiegers,  of  which  he  soon  had  intelligence, 
and  instantly  prepared  to  avail  himself  of  the  privilege 
which  it  gave  to  the  garrison  of  flight.  He  called  his 
little  force  together,  and  having  arranged,  before  leaving 
its  shelter,  the  progress  and  general  movement  of  his 
party,  he  carefully  placed  the  women  and  children  in 
the  centre  of  his  little  troop,  sallied  boldly  forth  into 
the  woods,  conscious  of  all  the  dangers  of  the  movement, 
but  strengthened  with  all  those  thoughts  of  lofty  cheer 
with  which  the  good  Providence,  at  all  times,  inspires 
the  spirit  of  adventure,  in  the  hour  of  its  trying  circum- 
stance. There  was  something  of  pleasure  in  their 
very  release  from  the  confined  circuit  of  the  Block 
House,  though  now  more  immediately  exposed  to  the 
tomahawk  of  the  Indian ;  and  with  the  pure  air,  and 
the  absence  of  restraint,  the  greater  number  of  the 
foresters  grew  even  cheerful  and  glad — a  change  of 
mood  in  which  even  the  women  largely  partook.  Some 
few  indeed,  of  the  more  Puritanical  among  them,  dis- 
posed to  think  themselves  the  especial  charge  of  the 
Deity,  and  holding  him  not  less  willing  than  strong  to 
save,  under  any  circumstances,  even  went  so  far  as  to 
break  out  into  a  hymn  of  exultation  and  rejoicing, 
entirely  forgetting  the  dangers  still  hanging  around 
them,  and  absolutely  contending  warmly  with  Grayson 
when  he  undertook  to  restrain  them.  Not  the  least 
refractory  of  these  was  his  own  mother,  who,  in  spite 
of  all  he  could  say,  mouthed  and  muttered  continually, 
and  every  now  and  then  burst  forth  into  starts  of  irre- 
pressible psalmody,  sufficient  to  set  the  entire  tribe  of 
Indians  unerringly  upon  their  track.  The  remonstrance 
of  Grayson  had  little  effect,  except  when  he  reminded 
her  of  his  younger  brother.  The  idolized  Hugh,  and 
his  will,  were  her  law  in  most  things.  Appealing  to 
his  authority,  and  threatening  complaint  to  him,  he 
succeeded  in  making  her  silent,  at  least  to  a  certain 
extent.  Entire  silence  was  scarcely  possible  with 
the  old  dame,  who  likened  her  escape  from  the  flaming 
Block  House,  and,  so  far,  from  the  hands  of  the  savage, 
to  every  instance  of  Providential  deliverance  she  had 


THE    YEMASSEE.  193 

ever  read  of  in  the  sacred  volume  ;  and  still,  under  the 
stimulus  of  such  a  feeling,  broke  out  every  now  and 
then,  with  sonorous  emphasis,  into  song,  from  an  old 
collection  of  the  period,  every  atom  of  which  she  had 
familiarly  at  the  end  of  her  tongue.  A  moment  had 
not  well  elapsed  after  the  first  suggestion  of  Grayson, 
when,  as  if  unconsciously,  she  commenced  again  : 

"  '  The  Lord  hath  fought  the  foe  for  us, 
And  smote  the  heathen  down.'  "■ 

"  Now,  mother,  in  the  name  of  common  sense,  can't 
you  be  quiet  ?" 

"  And  wherefore  should  we  not  send  up  the  hymn  of 
rejoicing  and  thanksgiving  for  all  his  mercies,  to  the 
b  ather  who  has  stood  beside  us  in  the  hour  of  peril » 
Wherefore,  I  ask  of  you,  Walter  Grayson  ?  Oh  my 
son,  beware  of  self-conceit  and  pride  of  heart; 'and 
because  you  have  here  commanded  earthly  and  human 
weapons,  think  not,  in  the  vanity  of  your  spirit,  that  the 
victory  comes  from  such  as  these.  The  Saviour  of  men, 
my  son— it  is  he  that  has  fought  this  fight.  It  is  his 
sword  that  has  smitten  the  savage  hip  and  thigh,  and 
brought  us  free  out  of  the  land  of  bondage,  even  ashe 
brought  his  people  of  old  from  the  bondage  of  the 
Egyptians.  He  is  mighty  to  save,  and  therefore  should 
we  rejoice  with  an  exceeding  strong  voice."  And  as 
if  determined  to  sustain  amply  the  propriety  she  insisted 
on,  her  lungs  were  never  more  tasked  than  when  she 
sung : — 

"  '  The  Lord  he  comes  with  mighty  power, 
The  army  of  the  saints  is  there- 
He  speaks — '  " 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  mother — hush  your  tongue if 

it  be  in  you  to  keep  it  quiet  for  a  moment.  Let  it  rest 
only  for  a  little  while,  or  we  shall  all  be  scalped. 
Wait  till  daylight,  and  you  may  then  sing  to  your  heat's 
content.  It  can't  be  long  till  daylight,  and  you  c  *n 
then  begin,  but  not  till  then,  or  we  shall  have  the  sa\  - 
ages  on  our  track,  and  nothing  can  save  us." 

Vol.  II. 


194  THE    YEMASSEK. 

"  Oh !  thou  of  little  faith— I  tell  thee,  Walter,  thou 
hast  read  but  too  little  of  thy  Bible,  and  dependest  too 
much  upon  the  powers  of  earth — all  of  which  are 
wicked  and  vain  defences.  Put  thy  trust  in  God  ;  he 
is  strong  to  save.  Under  his  hand  I  fear  not  the  sav- 
age— for,  does  he  not  tell  us — "  and  she  quavered 
again : — 

" '  Unfold  thine  eye  and  see  me  here, 
I  do  the  battle  for  the  just, 
My  people  nothing  have  to  fear — ' " 

"  Mother,  in  the  name  of  common  sense."  But  she 
went  on  with  double  fervour,  as  if  vexed  with  the  in- 
terruption : — 

"  '  If  faithful  in  my  word — '  " 

"  Mother,  mother,  I  say — "  But  she  was  bent  seem- 
ingly to  finish  the  line  : — 

"  ' they  trust.'  " 

"  Was  there  ever  such  an  obstinate  !  I  say,  moth- 
er—" 

"Well,  my  son?" 

"  Are  you  my  mother  ?" 

"  Of  a  certainty,  I  am.  What  mean  you  by  that 
question,  Walter?" 

"  Do  you  want  to  see  my  scalp  dangling  upon  the 
long  pole  of  a  savage  ?" 

"  God  forbid,  Walter,  my  son.  Did  I  not  bear  thee 
— did  I  not  suffer  for  thee  ?" 

"  Then,  if  thou  dost  not  really  desire  to  see  me 
scalped,  put  some  stop  on  thy  tongue,  and  move  along 
as  if  death  lay  under  every  footstep.  If  the  savages 
surround  us  now,  we  are  gone,  every  mother's  son 
of  us — and  all  the  saints,  unless  they  are  accustomed 
to  Irdian  warfare,  can  do  nothing  in  our  behalf." 

"  Speak  not  irreverently,  son  Walter.  The  saints 
are  blessed  mediators  for  the  sinner,  and  may  move 
et  ,-rnal  mercy  to  save.     Have  they  not  fought  for  us 


THE    YEMASSEE.  195 

already  to-night — and  are  we  not  saved  by  their  min- 
istry from  the  bloody  hands  of  the  savage  V 

"No — it's  by  our  own  hands,  and  our  own  good 
handiwork,  mother.  I  owe  the  saints  no  thanks,  and 
shall  owe  you  still  less,  unless  you  stop  that  howling." 

"  Oh,  Father,  forgive  him,  he  knows  not  what  he 
says — he  is  yet  in  the  bondage  of  sin — "  and  she 
hymned  her  prayer  from  her  collection  : — 

"  '  Strike  not  the  sinner  in  his  youth, 
But  bear  him  in  thy  mercy  on, 
Till  in  the  path  of  sacred  truth, 
He  sees — '  " 

"  Mother,  if  thou  hush  not,  I  will  tell  Hugh  of  thy 
obstinacy.  He  shall  know  how  little  thou  mindest  his 
counsel." 

"  Well,  well,  Walter,  my  son,  I  am  done.  Thou  art 
too  hasty,  I'm  sure. — Oh,  bless  me — " 

Her  speech  was  cut  short  by  a  sudden  and  fierce 
whoop  of  the  Indians,  followed  by  the  huzzas  of  the 
whites  at  a  greater  distance,  and  the  rapid  fire  of  mus- 
ketry, scattered  widely  along  the  whole  extended  range 
of  forest  around  them. 

"  Down,  down,  all  hands  to  your  knees — one  and 
all — "  was  the  cry  of  Grayson  to  his  party ;  and,  ac- 
customed to  most  of  the  leading  difficulties  and  dangers 
of  such  a  fight,  the  order  was  obeyed  as  if  instinct- 
ively by  all  except  Dame  Grayson,  who  inflexibly 
maintained  her  position,  and  refused  to  move,  alleging 
her  objection  to  any  prostration  except  for  the  purposes 
of  prayer.  Maddened  by  her  obstinacy,  Grayson,  with 
very  little  scruple,  placing  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder, 
bore  her  down  to  the  earth,  exclaiming, — 

"  Then  say  your  prayers,  mother — do  any  thing  but 
thwart  what  you  cannot  amend." 

Thus  humbled,  the  party  crept  along  more  closely 
into  cover,  until,  at  a  spot  where  the  trees  were  clustered 
along  with  underwood,  into  something  like  a  copse,  he 
ordered  a  halt,  and  proceeded  to  arrange  his  men  and 
their  weapons  for  active  conflict.     The  war  approached 


196  THE    YEMASSKE. 

at  intervals,  and  an  occasional  shot  whistled  over  the 
heads  of  the  party,  conclusively  proving  the  necessity 
of  their  position.  The  Indians  seemed  to  lie  betwixt 
them  and  the  advancing  Carolinians ;  and  perceiving 
this  to  be  the  case,  Grayson  threw  the  non-combatants 
under  shelter  in  such  a  manner  as  to  interpose  those 
who  fought  in  the  way  of  the  coming  Indians,  in  the 
event  of  their  being  driven  back  upon  them.  His 
party  in  the  meanwhile,  well  prepared,  lay  quietly 
under  cover,  and  with  their  weapons  ready  to  take 
advantage  of  any  such  event. 

Harrison,  as  we  may  remember,  had  taken  the  com- 
mand of  the  greater  body  of  the  force  which  had  been 
brought  up  through  the  industrious  and  prodigious  ex- 
ertions of  Hugh  Grayson.  This  young  man,  stung  and 
mortified  as  he  had  been  by  the  rebuke  of  Bess  Mat- 
thews, with  a  degree  of  mental  concentration,  rather 
indicative  of  his  character — though  hopeless  of  those 
affections,  which  of  all  other  human  hopes  he  had  most 
valued — had  determined  .to  do  himself  justice  by  doing 
his  duty.  Throwing  aside,  therefore,  as  well  as  he 
might,  the  passionate  mood,  which  was  active  in  his 
soul,  he  had  gone  forth  from  the  house  of  the  pastor, 
resolute  to  make  every  exertion  in  procuring  a  force 
that  might  protect  the  family  from  an  attack,  which 
he  had  at  length  learned,  as  well  as  Harrison,  greatly 
to  anticipate.  His  pride  suggested  to  him  the  gratifi- 
cation of  saving  the  life  of  her  who  had  scorned  him, 
as  an  honourable  revenge,  not  less  than  a  fair  blotting 
out  of  those  errors  of  which,  on  her  account,  he  had 
suffered  himself  to  be  guilty.  His  efforts,  so  far,  had 
been  crowned  with  success  ;  but  he  had  come  too  late 
for  his  prime  object.  The  dwelling  of  the  pastor  had 
been  sacked  before  his  arrival,  and,  like  Harrison,  he 
was  under  the  most  horrible  apprehensions  for  her 
safety.  The  latter  person  came  upon  him  opportunely, 
in  time  to  keep  him  from  falling  into  the  ambuscade 
through  which  he  had  himself  so  singularly  passed  in 
safety — and  with  more  knowledge  of  Indian  strife, 
Harrison  took  the  command  of  a  party,  confident  in  his 


THE    YEMASSEE.  197 

skill,  and,  of  necessity,  with  a  courage  heightened  pro- 
portionally when  under  his  direction. 

The  cautious  yet  bold  management  of  Harrison  soon 
gave  him  the  advantage.  The  foresters,  guided  by 
him,  each  took  his  tree  after  the  manner  of  the  Indians, 
and  with  the  advantage  of  weapons  more  certain  to 
kill,  and  equally,  if  not  more  certain,  in  aim.  Apart 
from  this,  the  Carolinian  woodman  knew  enough  of  the 
savages  to  know  that  they  were  no  opponents,  gener- 
ally speaking,  to  be  feared  in  a  trial  of  respective  mus- 
cular strength.  The  life  of  the  hunter  fits  him  to  en- 
dure rather  than  to  contend.  The  white  borderer  was 
taught  by  his  necessities  to  do  both.  He  could  wield 
the  axe  and  overthrow  the  tree — a  labour  to  which  the 
Indian  is  averse.  He  could  delve  and  dig,  and  such 
employment  was  a  subject  of  scorn  and  contempt  with 
the  haughty  aboriginal  warrior.  At  the  same  time  he 
practised  the  same  wanderings  and  the  same  felicity 
of  aim,  and  in  enduring  the  toils  of  the  chase,  he  was 
fairly  the  equal  of  his  tawny  but  less  enterprising  neigh- 
bour. The  consciousness  of  these  truths — a  conscious- 
ness soon  acquired  from  association — was  not  less  fa- 
miliar to  the  Indian  than  to  the  Carolinian ;  and  the  for- 
mer, in  consequence,  despaired  his  charm,  when  oppo- 
sing the  white  man  hand  to  hand.  His  hope  was  in  the 
midnight  surprise — in  the  sudden  onslaught — in  the 
terror  inspired  by  his  fearful  whoop — and  in  the  awful 
scalp-song  with  which  he  approached,  making  the 
imagination  of  his  foe  an  auxiliar  to  his  own,  as  he 
told  him  how  he  should  rend  away  the  dripping  locks 
from  his  scull,  while  his  eyes  swam  in  darkness,  and 
the  pulses  were  yet  flickering  at  his  heart. 

From  cover  to  cover — from  tree  to  tree — the  indi- 
vidual Carolinians  rushed  on  against  their  retreating 
enemies.  In  this  manner  the  fight  became  somewhat 
pell-mell,  and  the  opponents  grew  strangely  mingled 
together.  Still,  as  each  was  busy  with  his  particular 
enemy,  no  advantage  could  well  be  taken  of  the  circum- 
stance on  either  side  ;  and  the  hatchets  of  the  individ- 
ual combatants  clashed  under  neighbouring  trees,  and 


198  THE    YEMASSEE. 

their  knives  were  uplifted  in  the  death-struggle  over 
the  same  stump,  without  any  hope  of  assistance  from 
their  friends  in  any  form  of  their  difficulty. 

In  this  general  state  of  things,  there  was  one  ex- 
ception in  the  case  of  Harrison  himself.  He  was  ap- 
proached resolutely  in  the  course  of  the  conflict  by  a 
Coosaw  warrior — a  man  of  inferior  size,  even  with  his 
tribe,  the  individuals  of  which  were  generally  diminu- 
tive. The  dark  eye  of  the  swarthy  foe,  as  he  advanced 
upon  Harrison,  was  lighted  up  with  a  malignant  auda- 
city, to  be  understood  only  by  a  reference  to  the  his- 
tory of  his  people.  That  people  were  now  almost  ex- 
terminated. He  was  one  of  the  few  survivers — a  chief 
— a  bold,  brave  man — subtle,  active,  and  distinguished 
for  his  skill  as  a  warrior  and  hunter.  He  recognised 
in  Harrison  the  renowned  Coosah-moray-te — the  leader 
of  the  force  which  had  uprooted  his  nation,  and  had 
driven  the  warriors  to  the  degrading  necessity  of  mer- 
ging their  existence  as  a  people  with  that  of  a  neigh- 
bouring tribe.  The  old  feeling  of  his  country,  and  a 
former  war,  was  at  work  in  his  bosom,  and  through  all 
the  mazes  of  the  conflict  he  steadily  kept  his  eye  on 
the  course  of  Harrison.  He  alone  sought  him — he 
alone  singled  him  out  for  the  fight.  For  a  long  time, 
the  nature  of  the  struggle  had  prevented  their  meeting ; 
but  he  now  approached  the  spot  where  Harrison  stood, 
holding  at  bay  a  tall  Chestatee  warrior  from  the  inte- 
rior of  Georgia.  The  Chestatee  was  armed  with  the 
common  war-club,  and  had  no  other  weapon.  This 
weapon  is  chiefly  useful  when  confusion  has  been 
introduced  by  the  bowmen  into  the  ranks  of  an  enemy. 
It  is  about  two  feet  in  length,  and  bears  at  its  end,  and 
sometimes  at  both  ends,  a  cross-piece  of  iron,  usually 
without  any  distinct  form,  but  sometimes  resembling 
the  blade  of  a  spear,  and  not  unfrequently  that  of  a 
hatchet.  Harrison  was  armed  with  a  sword,  and  had 
besides,  in  his  possession,  the  knife — the  same  broad, 
cimeter-like  weapon — which  had  been  given  him  by 
Matiwan  in  his  flight  from  Pocota-ligo.  His  rifle,  which 
he  had  not  had  time  to  reload,  leaned  against  a  tree,  at 


THE    YEMASSEE.  199 

the  foot  of  which  stood  Hector,  with  difficulty  restrain- 
ing, and  keeping  back,  with  all  his  might,  the  impatient 
dog  Dugdale,  which,  by  his  master's  orders,  he  had  re- 
muzzled.  This  had  been  done  in  order  to  his  safety. 
It  was  only  in  pursuit  that  his  services  would  have 
been  of  avail ;  for  though  he  might  be  of  use  in  the 
moment  of  strife,  the  chances  were  that  he  would  have 
been  shot.  Thus  reposing,  Hector  was  enabled  to  see 
die  approach  of  the  Coosaw,  and  by  an  occasional  exhi- 
bition of  his  own  person  and  that  of  the  dog,  to  deter  him 
from  the  attack  which  he  had  long  meditated.  But  the 
strife  between  Harrison  and  the  Chestatee  was  about 
to  cease.  That  warrior,  aiming  a  fierce  blow  at  the 
person  of.  his  enemy,  drove  the  spear-head  of  his  club 
into  the  tree,  and  failing  at  the  moment  to  disengage 
it,  fell  a  victim  to  the  quicksightedness  of  his  oppo- 
nent. Harrison's  sword  in  that  instant  was  sheathed  in 
the  bosom  of  the  Chestatee,  who,  as  he  received  the 
wound,  sprung  upward  from  the  ground,  snapping  the 
slender  weapon  short  at  the  hilt,  the  blade  still  remain- 
ing buried  in  his  body.  Harrison  drew  his  knife, 
and  having  for  some  time  seen  the  purpose  of  the 
Coosaw,  he  fortunately  turned  to  meet  him  at  the  very 
instant  of  his  approach.  Somewhat  surprised  at  the 
fearlessness  with  which  his  enemy  advanced  to  the 
conflict,  he  spoke  to  him  as  they  both  paused  at  a  few 
paces  from  each  other. 

"  Thou  art  a  Coosaw," — exclaimed  Harrison, — "  I 
know  thee." 

"  Chinnabar  is  the  last  chief  of  the  Coosaw.  He 
wants  blood  for  his  people." 

"  Thou  knowest  me,  then  ?"  said  Harrison. 

"  Coosah-moray-te  /"  was  the  simple  response  ;  and 
the  dark  eye  glared,  and  the  teeth  of  the  savage  gnashed 
like  those  of  the  hungered  wolf,  as  the  name  stirred 
up  all  the,  associations  in  his  mind  of  that  war  of  ex- 
termination which  the  warrior  before  him  had  waged 
against  his  people. 

"Ay — the  Coosah-moray-te  is  before  thee. — Would 
Chinnabar  follow  his  people  ?"  exclaimed  the  English- 
man. 

i>(3 


200  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  Chinnabar  would  have  much  blood  for  his  people. 
He  would  drink  blood  from  the  scull  of  Coosah-moray- 
te — he  would  show  the  scalp  of  the  Coosah-moray-te  to 
the  warriors  of  Coosaw,  that  wait  for  him  in  the  Happy 
Valley." 

"  Thou  shalt  have  no  scalp  of  mine,  friend  Chinna- 
bar. I'm  sorry  to  disappoint  you,  but  I  must — I  can't 
spare  it.  Come !  I  know  you  of  old  for  a  cunning 
snake— a  snake  lying  in  the  dried  bush.  The  foot  of 
the  Coosah-moray-te  will  trample  on  thy  head." 

Harrison  spoke  fearlessly,  for  who,  contrasting  the 
appearance  of  the  two,  would  have  thought  the  contest 
doubtful  ?  The  Indian  was  scarcely  over  five  feet  in 
height,  slender,  and  not  well  set ;  while  his  opponent, 
fully  six  feet  in  height,  a  fine  specimen  of  symmetrical 
manhood,  seemed  able  to  crush  him  with  a  finger. 
The  Coosaw  simply  responded  with  something  like  a 
smile  of  scorn, — throwing  himself  at  the  same  moment 
like  a  ball  at  the  feet  of  his  enemy — 

"  Good  ! — the  snake  is  in  the  bush.  Look !  Coo- 
sah-moray-te— put  the  foot  on  his  head." 

The  Englishman  looked  down  upon  him  with  some- 
thing like  surprise  mingled  with  his  contempt,  and 
made  no  show  of  assault ;  but  he  was  too  well  ac- 
quainted with  Indian  trick  and  manoeuvre  to  be  thrown 
off  his  guard  by  this  movement.  Curious  to  see 
what  would  be  the  next  effort  of  one  who  had  studi- 
ously singled  him  out,  he  watched  him  carefully,  and 
the  Indian,  something  balked  that  the  enemy  had  not 
taken  him  at  his  word  and  approached  him  while 
in  his  prostrate  condition,  slowly  uncoiled  him  from 
his  cluster,  and  had  partially  regained  his  feet,  when 
Harrison,  who  had  been  looking  for  him  fully  to  do 
so,  was  surprised  in  the  next  moment  to  find  his 
wily  enemy  directly  between  his  legs.  The  sudden- 
ness of  such  a  movement,  though  it  failed  to  throw 
him,  as  the  Coosaw  had  calculated,  yet  disordered  his 
position  not  a  little  ;  and  before  he  could  strike  a  blow, 
or  do  more  than  thrust  one  of  his  feet  down  upon  him, 
his  active  adversary  had  passed  from  his  reach,  having 


THE    YEMASSEE.  201 

made  a  desperate  effort  with  his  knife  to  hamstring 
his  adversary,  as  he  leaped  aside  and  turned  suddenly 
upon  him.  The  rapidity  of  Harrison's  movement  alone 
saved  him,  though  even  then  not  entirely,  since  the 
knife  grazed  his  leg,  inflicting  a  sharp,  though  not 
dangerous  wound.  He  barely  turned  in  time  to  meet 
the  preparation  of  the  Coosaw  for  a  second  assault  of 
similar  character ;  and  something  more  ready  at  this 
novel  mode  of  attack,  and  vexed  at  its  partial  success, 
Harrison  looked  with  some  impatience  for  his  enemy's 
approach,  and  felt  a  thrill  of  fierce  delight  as  he  saw 
him  leave  with  a  bound  the  spot  upon  which  he  stood. 
Sinking  upon  his  knee  as  the  savage  rolled  towards 
him,  he  presented  his  knife,  edge  upward,  to  his  ad- 
vance. What  was  his  surprise  to  find  that  in  so  stoop- 
ing, he  had  only  evaded  a  blow  upon  his  bosom,  which, 
from  his  position,  and  the  direction  which  the  Indian 
pursued,  had  he  stood,  the  heels  of  his  foe  would  cer- 
tainly have  inflicted.  He  saw  from  this  that  he  must 
now  become  the  assailant ;  particularly  as  he  perceived 
that  his  men  were  successfully  pressing  upon  the  en- 
emy in  every  direction,  and  that  the  battle  was  pro- 
gressing towards  the  river,  and  between  it  and  the 
Block  House.  Active  as  most  men,  Harrison  was  also 
a  man  of  ready  decision ;  and  with  the  thought  came 
the  execution.  With  a  bound  he  grappled  the  Coo- 
saw, who  had  not  looked  for  an  attack  so  sudden,  and 
no  doubt  had  been  fatigued  by  previous  efforts.  Har- 
rison drove  him  back  against  a  tree  with  all  the  muscle 
of  an  extended  arm,  and  thus  forced  the  combat  upon 
him  on  his  own  terms.  But  even  then  the  subtlety  of 
the  savage  did  not  fail  him.  He  evaded  the  grasp, 
and  contrived  to  double  once  or  twice  completely  under 
the  body  of  his  opponent,  until,  exasperated  by  his  per- 
tinacity not  less  than  at  the  agility  with  which  the  In- 
dian eluded  him,  without  stooping  to  where  he  wriggled 
like  a  snake  around  him,  the  Englishman  leaped  upon 
him  with  both  feet,  striking  his  heel  securely  down 
upon  the  narrow  of  his  sinuous  back,  and  in  this  way 
fastening  him  to  the  earth.     In  another  instant  and  the 


202  THE    YEMASSEE. 

knife  would  have  finished  the  combat,  when  the  con- 
queror received  a  severe  blow  with  a  club,  upon  his 
shoulder,  from  some  unseen  hand,  which  completely 
staggered  him ;  and  before  he  could  recover,  he  was 
confronted  by  another  warrior  of  the  Coosaws,  crying 
to  him  in  his  own  language  in  the  exultation  of  suc- 
cess deemed  secure,  and  thus  cheering  his  prostrate 
chief,  Chinnabar — 

"  Coosah-moray-te, — I  drink  his  blood,  I  tear  his 
throat,  I  have  his  scalp — I  hear  his  groan — Hi-chai !  — 
.  'tis  a  dog  for  Opitchi-Manneyto  !" 

At  the  cry,  his  former  opponent  rose  from  the 
ground,  not  so  much  injured  but  that  he  could  recom- 
mence the  battle.  They  advanced  at  the  same  mo- 
ment upon  the  Englishman,  though  from  different 
quarters.  They  came  upon  him  with  all  their  subtlety 
and  caution,  for  the  two  together  could  scarce  have 
contended  with  the  superior  strength  of  Harrison. 
Taking  his  tree,  he  prepared  for  the  worst ;  and  with 
his  left  arm  so  severely  paralyzed  by  the  blow  that  he 
could  do  little  more  than  throw  it  up  in  defence,  he 
yet  held  a  good  heart,  and  while  he  saw  with  what 
malignity  the  two  Coosaws  had  singled  him  out,  he 
had  hope  to  meet  them  individually  by  the  exercise  of 
some  of  those  adroit  arts  which  he  too  could  employ 
not  less  than  the  savage.  But  he  was  spared  this  trial. 
The  very  instant  of  their  simultaneous  approach,  a 
gun-shot  from  the  rear  brought  down  the  second  as- 
sailant. The  surviver,  Chinnabar,  as  if  exasperated 
beyond  reason  at  the  event,  now  precipitated  himself 
forward,  tomahawk  in  hand,  upon  his  foe,  was  foiled 
by  the  ready  agility  which  encountered  him,  put  aside, 
and  almost  in  the  same  instant  hurled  like  a  stone  to 
the  ground  by  the  now  fully  aroused  Englishman. 

"  Coosaw — thou  art  the  last  chief  of  thy  people. 
The  cunning  serpent  will  die  by  the  Coosah-moray- 
te,  like  the  rest,"  said  Harrison,  addressing  the  con- 
quered savage,  who  lay  motionless,  but  still  alive,  at 
his  feet. 

*'  The  Coosah-moray-te  will  strike.     Chinnabar  is 


THE    YEMASSEE.  203 

the  last  chief  of  the  Coosaw— his  people  have  gone— 
they  wait  for  him  with  the  cry  of  a  bird.  Let  the  Dale- 
fact;  strike.     Ah  !  ah !"  v 

The  knife  was  in  his  heart.  Vainly  the  eyes  rolled 
tn  a  fruitless  anger— the  teeth  fixed  for  ever,  while 
gnashing  in  fury,  in  the  death  spasm.  ,  A  short  groan 
—a  word,  seemingly  of  song— and  the  race  of  the 
i^oosaws  was  for  ever  ended. 

t,wfJT?  l°f and  i°?ked  round  for  the  Person  "*ose 

timely  shot  had  saved  him  from  the  joint  attack  of  the 

two  warriors.     He  discovered  him  advancing  in  the 

person  of  Hector,  who,  having  fastened  Dugdale  to  a 

sapling    had  reloaded  the  musketoon  of  hi?  master! 

and  dV  his  intervention  at  the  proper  moment,  had  no 

doubt   preserved   his  life.     Unaccustomed,  however, 

to  the  use  of  gunpowder,  the  black  had  overcharged 

the  piece,  and  the  recoil  had  given  him  a  shock  which, 

at  the  moment,  he  was  certain  could  not  have  been 

a  jot  less  severe  than  that  which  it  inflicted  upon  the 

Coosaw  he  had  slain.     His  jaws  ached,  he  bitterly 

S'  £henever,  years  after,  he  detailed  the  fight 

with  the  Yemassee  on  the  banks  of  the  Pocota-ligo. 

Hector— thou  hast  saved  my  life,"  said  Harrison 

as  he  came  up  to  him. 

"I  berry  glad,  mossa,"  was  the  natural  reply. 

"  Where's  Dugdale  ?"  *  J 

shootVe^j'  h°°k  '6m  Wid  "^  When  '  **  *» 

"  Bring  him,  and  set  him  loose." 

The  black  did  as  he  was  told,  and  harking  him  on 
the  track  of  the  flymg  Indians,  Harrison  seized  and 
reloaded  his  rifle,  while  Hector  possessed  himself  of 
a  knife  and  hatchet  which  he  picked  up  upon  the  field 
They  then  proceeded  hastily  to  overtake  the  Caroli- 
nians, who,  at  a  little  distance,  were  pressing  upon  the 
retreating  enemy.  Harrison  came  in  time  to  Le  his 
influence  and  energy  where  they  were  most  needed. 

Blnrk  H  ng  G,  Wxrf-  met  b^  the  Party  from  the 
Block  House,  under  Ishiagaska  and  the  pimte,  and  the 
fight  commenced  anew-a^sort  of  running  fight,  how! 

do 


204  THE    YEMASSEE. 

ever,  for  the  Indians  grew  weary  of  a  contest  in  which 
they  had  none  of  those  advantages  of  number  or  cir- 
cumstance that  usually  encourage  them  to  war . 
and  so  trifling  was  the  force  of  whites  now  remaining 
with  them  under  Chorley,  that  their  presence  rather 
induced  despondency  than  hope.  The  pirate  himself 
was  much  discouraged  by  the  nature  of  the  strife,  for 
which  he  did  not  dream  that  the  Carolinians  would 
have  been  so  well  prepared ;  and  the  loss  which  he  had 
sustained,  so  disproportioned  to  his  force,  had  not  a 
little  exaggerated  his  discontent.  His  disquiet  was 
destined  to  find  still  farther  increase  in  the  new  as- 
sault ;  two  more  of  his  men,  not  so  well  sheltered  as 
they  should  have  been,  or  more  venturous,  having  been 
shot  down  near  a  tree  immediately  adjoining  that  be- 
hind which  he  stood  ;  and  though  the  Indians  still  con- 
tinued to  fight,  he  saw  that  they  could  not  be  encouraged 
to  do  so  long ;  as,  even  if  successful  in  killing,  they 
had  no  opportunity  of  obtaining  the  scalps  of  the  slain, 
the  best  evidence  with  them  of  their  triumph.  The 
Carolinians  still  pressed  on,  their  numbers  greatly  in- 
creased by  the  presence  of  several  slaves,  who,  vol- 
unteering even  against  the  will  of  their  masters,  had 
armed  themselves  with  knives  or  clubs,  and  by  their 
greater  numbers  held  forth  a  prospect  of  ultimately 
hemming  in  the  smaller  force  of  their  enemy.  This 
was  an  ally  upon  which  the  Spaniards  had  largely 
calculated.  They  had  no  idea  of  that  gentler  form  of 
treatment  which,  with  the  Carolinians,  won  the  affec- 
tions of  their  seirviles  ;  and  knowing  no  other  princi- 
ple in  their  own  domestic  government  than  that  of  fear, 
and  assured  of  the  instability  of  any  confidence  built 
upon  such  a  relationship  between  the  ruler  and  the 
serf,  they  had  miscalculated  greatly  when  they  ad- 
dressed their  bribes  and  promises  to  the  negroes,  as 
well  as  to  the  Indians  of  Carolina.  But  few  joined 
them — the  greater  number,  volunteering  for  their 
owners,  were  taken  actually  into  the  employment  of 
the  colony,  and  subsequently  rewarded  in  proportion 
to  their  services  and  merits. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  205 

The  engagement  became  a  flight.  From  point  to 
point  the  Carolinians  pursued  their  enemy — Chorley 
the  seaman,  and  Ishiagaska,  alone  endeavouring,  by 
the  most  ardent  effort,  to  stimulate  the  courage  of 
their  followers,  and  maintain  the  show  of  fight.  But 
in  vaiu.  The  whites  pressed  closely  upon  the  heels  of 
the  fugitives,  who  were  at  length  suddenly  brought  up 
by  a  severe  fire  directly  upon  their  path  from  the  con- 
cealed party  under  Grayson.  This  completed  their 
panic  ;  and  each  darting  in  the  direction  given  him  by 
his  fears,  sought  for  individual  safety.  There  was  no 
longer  the  form  of  a  battle  array  among  them,  and  the 
negroes  cleared  the  woods  with  their  clubs,  beating 
out  the  brains  of  those  they  overtook,  almost  without 
having  any  resistance  offered  them.  The  day  dawned 
upon  the  forest,  and  every  step  of  the  route  taken  by 
the  combatants  was  designated  by  blood. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

**  Away,  away,— I  hold  thee  as  my  spoil, 
To  bless  and  cheer  me — worthy  of  my  toil — 
Let  them  pursue — I  have  thee,  thou  art  mine, 
With  life  to  keep,  and  but  with  life  resign." 

Day  dawned,  and  the  sun  rose  clearly  and  beautifully 
over  the  scattered  bands  of  the  forest.  The  Indians 
were  fairly  defeated,  Ishiagaska  slain,  and  Chorley, 
the  pirate,  uninfluenced  by  any  of  those  feelings  of 
nationality  in  the  present  case,  which  would  have 
prompted  him  to  a  desperate  risk  of  his  own  person  in 
a  struggle  so  utterly  unlooked-for,  as  soon  as  he  saw 
the  final  and  complete  character  of  the  defeat,  silently 
withdrew,  with  his  few  remaining  followers,  from  far- 
ther conflict.  He  had  another  care  upon  his  hands 
beside  that  of  his  own  safety.  There  was  one  reward — 
one  spoil — with  which  he  consoled  himself  for  his  dis- 


206  THE    YEMASSEE. 

aster — and  that  was  Bess  Matthews.  Filled  with  a 
fierce  passion,  as  he  thought  of  her,  he  took  his  way, 
unseen  by  the  victorious  Carolinians,  toward  the  little 
cot  on  the  river's  edge,  in  which  he  had  left  his  pris- 
oners. Circumstances  had  materially  altered  from 
what  they  were  at  the  time  when  they  became  so.  He 
was  no  longer  able  to  control,  with  an  imposing  and 
superior  force,  the  progress,  either  of  his  Indian  allies 
or  of  his  Carolinian  enemies.  He  had  not  foreseen, 
any  more  than  the  Yemassees,  the  state  of  preparation 
in  which  the  settlers  about  the  Pocota-ligo  had  met 
the  invasion.  He  had  looked  to  find  invasion  and  con- 
quest one — and  had  never  dreamed  of  opposition,  much 
less  of  a  defence  which  would  prove  so  completely 
successful.  The  energies  of  a  single  man,  his  address, 
farsightedness,  and  circumspection,  had  done  all  this. 
To  the  perseverance  and  prudence  of  Harrison — his 
devotedness  to  the  cause  he  had  undertaken,  the  bor- 
derers Owed  their  safety.  But  of  this  the  pirate  chief 
knew  nothing;  and,  anticipating  no  such  provident 
management,  he  had  fearlessly  leagued  himself  with 
the  savages,  stimulated  by  passions  as  sanguinary  as 
theirs,  and  without  that  redeeming  sense  of  national 
character  and  feeling — that  genuine  love  of  country, 
which  not  only  accounted  for,  but  exculpated  the  people 
of  whom  he  was  the  unworthy  ally.  But  he  had  lost  all 
that  he  came  for — all  objects  but  one.  His  best  fol- 
lowers had  fallen  victims — his  hope  of  spoil  had  in 
great  part  been  defeated,  and  though  he  had  shed  blood, 
the  quantity  was  as  nothing  to  one  with  whom  such 
had  been  a  familiar  indulgence.  Yet,  with  a  volup- 
tuous appetite,  he  had  won  a  prize  which  promised  him 
enjoyment,  if  it  could  not  compensate  his  lasses.  The 
beautiful  Bess  Matthews — the  young,  the  budding,  the 
sweet.  She  was  in  his  power — a  trembling  dove  in 
the  grasp  of  the  fowler.  The  thought  was  as  so  much 
fire  to  his  fancy,  and  he  sought  the  cottage  in  which 
he  had  secured  her  with  a  fierce  and  feverish  thirst — 
a  brutal  sense  at  work  in  his  mind,  stimulating  him  to 
an  utter  disregard  of  humanity,  and  prompting  the  com- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  207 

plete  violation  of  all  ties  of  kindred,  as  he  meditated 
to  tear  her  away  from  the  bosom  of  her  parents. 

About  a  mile  from  the  hovel  in  which  the  family  of 
the  pastor  was  immured  lay  the  guarda-costa.  There 
was  an  air  of  bustle  on  board  of  her,  in  the  unreefing 
of  sails,  and  the  waving  and  rustling  of  her  ropes. 
I  he   tide  of  battle  had  alternated  from  spot  to  spot 
along  the  banks  of  the  river— now  lost  in  the  density 
of  the  forest,  and  now  finding  a  full  reverberation  from 
the  bosom  of  the  water.     The  firing  had  alarmed  all 
parties,  the  seamen  remaining  on  board,  not  less  than 
the  old  pastor  and  his  timid  wife  and  trembling  daugh- 
ter, who,  only  conscious  of  the  struggle,  and  not  of  its 
results,  were  filled  with  a  thousand  tearful  anticipations. 
1  o  Bess  Matthews,  however,  the  strife  brought  with 
it  a  promise,  since  it  proved  that  the  Carolinians  were 
prepared,  m  part   at  least,   for     their  invaders— and 
many  were  the  fluctuations  of  hope  and  fear  in  her 
soul,  as  the  gathering  clamour  now  approached  and 
now  receded  in  the  distance.     Love  taught  her  that 
Harrison  was  the  leader  making  such  bold  head  against 
the  enemy— love  promised  her,  as  the  battle  dissipated 
that  he  would  come  and  rescue  her  from  a  position  in 
which  she  did  not  well  know  whether  to  regard  herself 
as  a  captive  to  the  seaman,  or  as  one  owing  him  grati- 
tude for  her  own  and  the  preservation  of  her  family 
She  remembered  his  lustful  eye  and  insolent  speech 
and  gesture,  and  she  trembled  as  she  thought  of  it. 
True,  her  father  knew  him  in  his  boyhood,  but  his 
account  of  him  was  rather  tolerant  than  favourable  • 
and  the  subsequent  life  and  conduct  of  the  licentious 
rover— not  to  speak  of  the  suspicions  openly  enter- 
tained of  his  true  character  by  her  lover,  all  taught  her 
to  fear  the  protection  which  he  had  given,  and  to  dread, 
while  she  seemed  to  anticipate,  the  price  of  it. 

She  had  no  long  time  for  doubt,  and  but  little  for 
deliberation.  He  came— bloody  with  conflict— covered 
with  dust,  blackened  with  gunpowder— the  fierce  flame 
of  war  in  his  eye,  and  in  his  hand  the  bared  weapon, 
streaked  with  fresh  stains,  only  partially  covered  with 


208  THE    YEMASSEE. 

the  sand  through  which  it  had  been  drawn.  His  man- 
ner was  impatient  and  stem,  as,  without  addressing 
either  of  his  captives,  he  called  aside  and  gave  direc- 
tions to  his  seamen.  The  pastor  craved  his  attention, 
but  he  waved  his  hand  impatiently,  nor  turned  to  him 
for  an  instant,  until  he  had  despatched  two  of  his  men 
to  the  edge  of  the  stream,  where,  well  concealed  by 
the  shrubbery  upon  its  banks,  lay  the  small  boat  of  the 
vessel,  which  had  been  carefully  placed  there  by  his 
orders.  They  gave  him  a  shrill  whistle  as  they  reached 
it,  which  he  immediately  returned — then  approaching 
the  pastor,  he  scrupled  not  an  instant  in  the  develop- 
ment of  the  foul  design  which  he  had  all  along  medi- 
tated. 

"  Hark  ye,  Matthews— this  is  no  place  for  us  now — 
I  can't  protect  ye  any  longer.  I  havn't  the  men — they 
are  cut  up — slashed— dead — eleven  of  the  finest  fel- 
lows— best  men  of  my  vessel — by  this  time,  without  a 
scalp  among  them.  I  have  done  my  best  to  save  you, 
but  it's  all  over,  and  there's  but  one  way — you  must  go 
with  us  on  board." 

"  How,  Chorley — go  with  you — and  wherefore  ?  I 
cannot — I  will  not." 

"  What,  will  not?  Do  you  think  I'll  let  you  stay  to 
lose  your  scalps,  and  this  sweet  darling  here  ?  No, 
by  my  soul,  I  were  no  man  to  suffer  it.     You  shall  go." 

"  What  mean  you,  Chorley  ?  Are  the  savages  suc- 
cessful— have  they  defeated  our  men? — And  you — 
wherefore  do  you  fly — how  have  you  fought — with  us 
— for  our  people  ?" 

The  old  pastor,  half  bewildered,  urged  these  ques- 
tions incoherently,  but  yet  with  such  directness  of  aim 
as  almost  to  bewilder  the  person  he  addressed,  who 
could  not  well  answer  them.  How,  as  he  argued,  if 
the  Yemassees  had  defeated  the  Carolinians — how 
was  it  that  Chorley,  who  had  evidently  been  their  ally, 
could  not  exert  his  power  and  protect  them  ?  and,  on 
the  other  hand,  if  the  Carolinians  had  been  the  victors, 
wherefore  should  they  fly  from  their  own  people  ? 
Unable   well  to  meet  these  propositions,  the  native 


THE    YEMASSEE.  209 

fierce  impetuosity  of  the  pirate  came  to  his  relief,  and 
throwing  aside  entirely  the  conciliatory  manner  of  his 
first  address,  he  proceeded  in  a  style  more  congenial 
with  his  true  character. 

"Shall  I  stay  all  day, disputing  with  you  about  this 
nonsense  1  I  tell  you,  you  shall  go,  whether  you  will 
or  not.  Look,  I  have  the  power — look  at  these  men — 
can  you  withstand  them  ?  In  a  word,  they  force  you 
to  the  ship,  and  all  your  talking — ay,  and  all  your 
struggling,  will  help  you  nothing.     Come — away." 

"Never — never  !  Oh  father,  let  us  die  first !"  was 
the  involuntary  exclamation  of  the  maiden,  convulsively 
clinging  to  the  old  man's  arm  as  the  ruffian  took  a 
step  toward    her. 

"  Captain  Chorley,  I  cannot  think  you  mean  this 
violence  !"  said  the  old  man  with  dignity. 

"  May  I  be  d— d,"  said  he  fiercely,  "  but  I  do  !  What, 
old  man,  shall  I  leave  you  here  to'be  made  mincemeat 
of  by  the  Indians  ?  No,  no  !  I  love  you  and  your  pretty 
daughter  too  well  for  that.  Come,  sweetheart,  don't 
be  shy — ^what !  do  you  fear  me,  then '{" 

"  Touch  me  not — touch  me  not  with  your  bloody 
hands.  Away  !  I  will  not  go — strike  me'dead  first — 
strike  me  dead,  but  I  will  not  go." 

"  But  you  shall !  what !  think  you  I  am  a  child  to  be 
put  off  with  words  and  pretty  speeches  ?  What,  ho ! 
there,  boys — do  as  I  have  told  you." 

In  a  moment,  the  pastor  and  his  child  were  torn 
asunder. 

"  Father— help— help!  I  lose  thee— mother— father 
—Gabriel !" 

"  Villain,  release  me — give  me  back  my  child.  Undo 
your  hold— you  shall  suffer  for  this.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !— 
they  come— they  come!'  Hurry,  hurry,  my  people. 
Here— here— we  are  here— they  tear  away  my  child. 
Where  are  you— oh,  Harrison,  but  come  now — come 
now,  and  she  is  yours— only  save  her  from  the  hands 
of  this  fierce  ruffian.     They  come — they  come  !" 

They  did  come— the  broad  glare  of  sunlight  on  the 
edge  of  the  forest  was  darkened  by  approaching  shad- 


210  THE    YEMASSEE. 

ows.  A  shot — another  and  another  were  heard — and 
the  fugitives,  who  were  Indians  flying  from  the  pursu- 
ing Carolinians,  rushed  forward  headlong ;  but  as  they 
saw  the  group  of  whites  on  the  river's  brink,  thinking 
thein  new  enemies,  they  darted  aside,  and  taking  an- 
other route,  buried  themselves  in  the  forest  out  of  sighi 
just  as  their  pursuers  came  forth  upon  the  scene.  A 
single  glance  of  Bess  Matthews,  as  the  ruffian  suddenly 
seized  upon  and  bore  her  to  the  boat,  distinguished  the 
manly  form  of  her  lover  darting  out  of  the  thicket  and 
directly  upon  the  path  approaching  them.  That  glance 
gave  her  new  hope — new  courage — new  strength !  She 
shrieked  to  him  in  a  voice  delirious  with  terror  and 
hope,  as  the  pirate,  steadying  himself  in  the  water, 
placed  her  in  the  boat  in  which  sat  two  of  his  seamen. 

"  Come  to  me,  Gabriel — save  me,  save  me,  or  I 
perish.  It  is  I — thy  own  Bess— ever  thine — save  me, 
save  me." 

She  fell  back  fainting  with  exhaustion  and  excite- 
ment, and  lay  nerveless  and  almost  senseless  in  the 
arms  of  her  abductor.  He  sustained  her  with  perfect 
ease  with  one  arm  upon  his  bosom,  while,  standing 
erect,  for  the  boat  scarce  permitted  him  with  his  bur- 
den to  do  otherwise,  he  placed  his  foot  upon  the 
slender  rudder  and  guided  its  progress,  his  men  look- 
ing round  occasionally  and  suggesting  the  course  of 
the  vessel.  In  this  way,  he  kept  his  eye  upon  shore, 
and  beheld  the  progress  of  events  in  that  quarter. 

The  cries  of  his  betrothed  had  taught  Harrison  the 
condition  of  affairs.  He  saw  her  precarious  situation 
at  a  glance,  and  rushing  down  to  the  beach,  followed 
by  his  men,  the  seamen  fled  along  the  banks  higher 
up  the  river,  and  were  soon  out  of  sight,  leaving  the 
old  pastor  and  his  lady  free.  The  scene  before  him 
was  too  imposing  in  the  eye  of  Harrison  to  permit  of 
his  giving  the  fugitives  a  thought.  But  the  pastor,  now 
free  from  restraint,  with  a  speechless  agony  rushed 
forward  to  him,  and  clasping  his  arm,  pointed  with 
.his  finger  to  the  form  of  his  daughter,  hanging  like  a 
broken  flower,  supine,  and  almost  senseless,  upon  the 


THE    YEMASSEE.  211 

shoulder  of  her  Herculean  captor.  The  action  of 
Harrison  was  immediate,  and  in  a  moment,  the  mus- 
ketoon  was  lifted  to  his  shoulder,  his  eye  ranging  upon 
the  sight,  and  singling  out  the  exposed  breast  of  the 
pirate,  which  lay  uncovered,  but  just  alongside  of  the 
drooping  head  of  the  maiden.  As  the  seaman  saw  the 
movement,  he  changed  her  position — she  saw  it  too, 
and  lifting  her  hand,  placed  it,  with  an  emphasis  not  to 
be  mistaken,  upon  her  heart.  The  old  man  rushed 
forward,  and  seizing  Harrison,  cried  to  him  convul- 
sively, while  the  tears  trickled  down  his  cheeks — 

"  Stay  thy  hand — stay  thy  hand — shoot  not ;  rather 
let  me  lose  her,  but  let  her  live — thou  wilt  slay  her, 
thou  wilt  slay  my  child — my  own,  my  only  child,"  and 
he  tottered  like  an  infant  in  his  deep  agony. 

"Away,  old  man — away!"  and  with  the  words,  with 
a  terrible  strength,  Harrison  hurled  him  headlong  upon 
the  sands.  Without  a  pause  the  fearful  instrument 
was  again  uplifted — the  aim  was  taken, — his  finger 
rested  on  the  trigger,  but  his  heart  sickened — his  head 
swam — his  eyes  grew  blind  and  dizzy  ere  he  drew  it ; 
and  with  a  shiver  of  convulsion,  he  let  the  weapon 
descend  heavily  to  the  ground.  The  weakness  was 
only  momentary.  A  faint  scream  came  to  his  ears 
over  the  water,  and  brought  back  with  it  all  his 
strength.  The  maiden  had  watched  closely  all  his 
motions,  and  the  last  had  given  her  energy  somewhat 
to  direct  them.  That  scream  aroused  him.  He  re- 
sumed his  position  and  aim;  and  fixing  the  sight  upon 
that  part  of  the  bosom  of  his  enemy  least  concealed, 
nerved  himself  to  all  the  hazard,  and  resolutely  drew 
the  trigger.  The  effect  was  instantaneous.  The 
next  instant  the  maiden  was  seen  released  from  the 
pirate's  grasp  and  sinking  down  in  the  bottom  of  the 
boat,  while  he  stood  erect.  The  venerable  pastor 
fainted,  while,  on  her  knees,  his  aged  wife  bent  over 
him  in  silent  prayer.  That  moment  was  more  than 
death  to  Harrison  ;  but  what  was  his  emotion  of  delight 
when,  at  the  next,  he  beheld  the  pirate,  like  some 
gigantic  tree  that  has  kept  itself  erect  by  its  own  ex- 
37 


212  THE    YEMASSEE. 

ceeding  weight,  fall,  like  a  tower,  headlong  over  the 
side  of  the  boat,  stiff  and  rigid,  and  without  a  struggle, 
sink  deeply  and  silently  down  beneath  the  overdosing 
waters.  But  a  new  danger  awaited  the  maiden  ;  for  in 
his  fall,  destroying  the  equipoise  of  the  skiff,  its  entire 
contents  were  at  the  next  instant  precipitated  into  the 
stream  ;  and  while  the  two  seamen,  unhurt,  struck  off 
toward  the  vessel,  the  maiden  lay  in  sight,  sustained 
above  the  surface  only  by  the  buoyancy  of  her  dress, 
and  without  exhibiting  any  other  motion.  A  dozen 
sinewy  arms  from  the  shore  at  once  struck  the  water, 
but  which  of  all,  nerved  as  he  was  by  the  highest 
stimulant  of  man's  nature,  could  leave  the  fearless 
Harrison  behind  him?  On  he  dashes,  on — on — now 
he  nears  her, — another  moment  and  she  is  saved ;  but 
while  every  eye  was  fixed  as  with  a  spell  upon  the  pros- 
pect with  an  anxiety  inexpressible,  the  sullen  gushing 
waters  went  over  her,  and  a  universal  cry  of  horror 
arose  from  the  shore. — But  she  rose  again  in  an 
instant,  and  with  a  show  of  consciousness,  stretching 
out  her  hand,  the  name  of  "  Gabriel,"  in  a  tone  of  im- 
ploring love,  reached  the  ears  of  her  lover.  That 
tone,  that  word,  was  enough,  and  the  next  moment 
found  her  insensible  in  his  arms.  She  was  a  child  in 
his  grasp,  for  the  strength  of  his  fearless  and  passion- 
ate spirit,  not  less  than  of  his  native  vigour,  was  active 
to  save  her. 

.  "  Help — help,"  was  his  cry  to  the  rest,  and  to  the 
shore ; — he  sustained  her  till  it  came.  It  was  not 
long  ere  she  lay  in  the  arms  of  her  parents,  whose 
mutual  tears  and  congratulations  came  sweetly,  along 
with  their  free  consent,  to  make  her  preserver  happy 
with  the  hand  hitherto  denied  him. 


THE    YEMAS8EE.  213 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

"  Another  stroke  for  triumph.    It  goes  well, 
The  foe  gives  back — he  yields.    Another  hour 
Beholds  us  on  his  neck." 

Harrison,  thus  blessed  with  happiness,  appropriated 
but  little  time,  however,  to  its  enjoyment.  His  mind 
was  of  that  active  sort,  that  even  the  sweets  of  love 
were  to  be  enjoyed  by  him  as  a  stimulant,  rather  tha^ 
a  clog  to  exertion.  Conveying  the  little  family  to  a 
recess  in  the  woods,  and  out  of  sight  of  the  craft  of 
the  pirate,  he  immediately  proceeded,  having  first  led 
the  foresters  aside,  to  explain  his  farther  desires  to 
them  in  reference  to  their  common  duties. 

"  Joy,  my  brave  fellows,  and  thanks  to  you,  for  this 
last  night's  good  service.  You  have  done  well,  and 
risked  yourselves  nobly.  Grayson,  give  me  your  hand 
— you  are  a  good  soldier.     Where's  your  brother  ?" 

"  Here  !"  was  the  single  word  of  response  given 
from  the  rear  by  the  lips  of  Hugh  Grayson,  the 
younger.  The  tone  of  the  monosyllable  was  melan- 
choly, but  not  sullen.  Harrison  advanced  to  him,  and 
extended  his  hand. 

"  Master  Grayson,  to  you  we  owe  most  of  our 
safety  to-day.  But  for  you,  the  sun  would  have  found 
few  of  us  with  a  scalp  on.  Your  activity  in  bringing 
up  the  men  has  saved  us ;  for,  though  otherwise  safe 
enough,  the  firing  of  the  Block  House  must  have  been 
fatal  to  all  within.  For  myself,  I  may  freely  acknowl- 
edge, my  life,  at  this  moment,  is  due  to  your  timely 
appearance.  Your  command,  too,  was  excellently 
managed  for  so  young  a  soldier.  Accept  my  thanks, 
sir,  in  behalf  of  the  country  not  less  than  of  myself. 
I  shall  speak  to  you  again  on  this  subject,  and  in 
regard  to  other  services  in  which  your  aid  will  be  re- 
quired, after  a  while." 


214  THE    YEMASSEE. 

The  youth  looked  upon  Harrison  with  a  degree  of 
surprise,  which  prevented  him  from  making  any  ade- 
quate answer.  Whence  came  that  air  of  conscious 
superiority  in  the  speaker — that,  tone  of  command — 
of  a  power  unquestionable,  and  held  as  if  born  with  it 
in  his  possession.  The  manner  of  Harrison  had  all 
the  ease  and  loftiness  of  a  prince  and,  scarcely  less 
than  the  crowd  around  him,  the  proud-spirited  youth 
felt  a  degree  of  respectful  awe  stealing  over  him,  of 
which  he  began  to  grow  ashamed.  But  before  he 
could  recover  in  time  to  exhibit  any  of  that  rash  and 
imperious  rusticity  which  the  lowlier  born  of  strong 
native  mind  is  so  apt  to  show  in  the  presence  of  the 
conventional  superior,  the  speaker  had  again  addressed 
the  crowd,     i 

"And  you,  men,  you  have  all  done  well  for  the 
country,  and  it  owes  you  its  gratitude." 

"  Ay,  that  it  does,  captain,"  said  Nichols,  advancing 
— "that  it  does.  We  have  stood  by  her  in  the  hour  of 
her  need.  We  have  resisted  the  approach  of  the 
bloody  invader,  and  with  liberty  or  death  for  our  motto, 
we  have  rushed  to  the  conflict,  sir,  defying  conse- 
quences." 

"  Ah,  Nichols — you  are  welcome,  both  in  what  you 
have  done  and  what  you  have  said.  I  might  have 
known  that  the  country  was  safe  in  your  hands,  know- 
ing as  I  do  your  general  sentiments  on  the  subject 
of  the  liberties  of  the  people.  Granville  county, 
Nichols,  must  make  you  her  representative  after  this, 
and  I'm  sure  she  will."  The  speaker  smiled  sarcas- 
tically as  he  spoke,  but  Nichols  had  no  sight  for  such 
an  expression.     He  replied  earnestly: — 

"  Ah,  captain — 'twere  an  honour  ;— and  could  my 
fellow-countrymen  be  persuaded  to  look  upon  me  with 
your  eyes,  proud  would  I  be  to  stand  up  for  their  rights, 
and  with  the  thunders  of  my  voice,  compel  that  justice 
from  the  assembly  which,  in  denying  representation 
to  all  dissenters,  they  have  most  widely  departed  from. 
Ay,  captain — fellow-citizens — permit  me  to  address 
you  now  upon  a  few  topics  most  important  to  your 


THE    YEMASSEE.  215 

own  liberties,  and  to  the  common  benefit  of  humanity. 
My  voice — " 

"  Must  just  at  this  moment  be  unheard,"  interrupted 
Harrison ;  "  we  have  need  of  other  thunders  now. 
Hear  me,  gentlemen,  for  this  I  have  called  you  together. 
I  want  from  among  you  thirty  volunteers — hardy, 
whole-souled  fellows,  who  do  not  count  heads  in  a 
scuffle.  The  enterprise  is  dangerous,  and  must  be 
executed — very  dangerous  Ifsay,  and  I  beg  that  none 
may  offer  but  those  who  are  perfectly  ready  at  any 
moment — to  use  the  words  of  Dr.  Nichols — to  die  for 
the  country.  The  doctor  himself,  however,  must  not 
go,  as  he  is  too  important  to  us  in  his  surgical  capacity." 

Nichols,  well  pleased  with  the  exception  thus  made, 
was  not  however  willing  to  appear  so,  and,  glad  of  the 
opportunity,  could  not  forbear  making  something  of 
a  popular  hit. 

"How,  captain — this  may  not  be.  I  am  not  one  of 
those,  sir,  altogether  content  to  be  denied  the  privilege 
of  dying  for  my  country  when  occasion  calls  for  it. 
Let  me  go  on  this  service — I  insist.  I  am  one  of  the 
people,  and  will  forego  none  of  their  dangers." 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you  insist  upon  it,  of  course  I  can  say 
nothing — we  hold  you  pledged,  therefore.  There  are 
now  three  of  us — Master  Hugh  Grayson,  I  presume  to 
place  you,  as  one  with  myself  and  Dr.  Nichols,  volun- 
teering upon  this  service.     I  understand  you  so." 

The  high  compliment,  and  the  delicate  manner  in 
which  it  was  conveyed,  totally  disarmed  young  Gray- 
son, who,  softened  considerably  by  the  proceeding, 
bowed  his  head  in  assent,  approaching  by  degrees  to 
where  Harrison  stood.  Nichols,  on  the  other  hand, 
had  not  contemplated  so  easily  getting  the  permission 
which  he  called  for,  and  well  knowing  his  man,  Harri- 
son barely  gave  it,  as  he  foresaw  it  would  not  be  long 
before  he  would  assume  new  ground,  which  would 
bring  about  a  ready  evasion  of  his  responsibility.  The 
elder  G^^son  meanwhile  volunteered  also,  followed 
by  several  others,  and  in  a  little  time  the  required 
number  was  almost  complete.  But  the  surgeon  now 
demanded  to  know  the  nature  of  the  service. 


216  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  What  matters  it,  doctor — it  is  an  honourable,  be- 
cause a  dangerous  service.     You  shall  know  in  time." 

"  That  does  not  suit  me,  captain.  What, — shall  I 
suffer  myself  to  be  led  blindfold  upon  a  duty,  the  pro- 
priety of  which  may  be  doubtful,  not  less  than  the  pol- 
icy ?     Sir — I  object  upon  principle  ?'.' 

"  Principle — indeed,  doctor,"  said  Harrison,  smiling. 
"  Why,  what  in  the  name  of  pounds  and  shillings  has 
principle  to  do  in  this  business  ?" 

"  Enough,  sir — the  rights  of  man — of  the  people  of 
the  country,  are  all  involved.  Do  I  not,  sir,  in  thus 
volunteering  upon  a  service  of  which  I  know  nothing, 
put  myself  under  the  control  of  one  who  may  make  me 
a  traitor  to  my  country — a  defier  of  the  laws,  and  prob- 
ably a  murderer  of  my  fellow-man  1  Sir,  what  secu- 
rity have  I  of  the  morality  and  the  lawfulness  of  your 
proceeding  ?" 

"  Very  true — you  are  right,  and  such  being  your 
opinions,  I  think  you  would  err  greatly  to  volunteer  in 
this  business,"  was  the  grave  response  of  Harrison. 

"  Ah,  I  knew  you  would  agree  with  me,  captain — I 
knew  it,"  cried  the  doctor,  triumphantly. 

"  I  want  another  man  or  two — we  are  something 
short." 

As  the  leader  spoke  Hector  came  forward,  his  head 
hanging  on  one  shoulder,  as  if  he  feared  rebuff  for 
his  presumption,  in  the  unlooked-for  proffer  of  service 
which  he  now  made. 

"  Mossa — you  let  Hector  go,  he  glad  too  much.  He 
no  want  stay  here  wid  de  doctor  and  de  'omans." 

His  reference  to  the  demagogue,  accompanied  as  it 
was  with  an  ill-concealed  chuckle  of  contempt,  pro- 
voked the  laughter  of  the  crowd ;  and  observing  that 
the  greater  number  looked  favourably  upon  the  propo- 
sal of  the  negro,  Harrison  consented. 

"  You  will  knock  a  Spaniard  on  the  head,  sir,  if  I 
bid  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  mossa,  and  scalp  'em  too,  jist  like  dem  In- 
jin." 

"  You  shall  go." 


THE    YEMASSEE.  217 

"  Tankee — dat's  a  good  mossa.  Hello,  da — "  and 
perfectly  overjoyed,  he  broke  out  with  a  stanza  of  negro 
minstrelsy  common,  even  now,  to  the  slaves  of  Caro- 
lina— 

"  He  come  rain — he  come  shine, 

Hab  a  good  mossa,  who  da  care  X 
De  black  is  de  white  and  de  white  is  de  black, 

Hab  a  good  mossa,  who  da  care  ? 
But  look  out,  nigger,  when  misses  come — 
Hah  !  den  de  wedder  will  alter  some — 
If  she  cross, — Oh  ! — wtto  for  say, 
You  ebber  again  see  sunshine  day  ?" 

How  long  Hector  might  have  gone  on  with  his  un- 
couth, and,  so  far  as  the  sex  is  interested,  ungallant  min- 
strelsy, may  not  well  be  said  ;  but  seeing  its  direction, 
his  master  silenced  it  in  a  sufficiently  potent  manner. 

"  Be  still,  sirrah,  or  you  shall  feed  on  hickory." 

"  No  hab  stomach  for  'em,  mossa.     I  dumb." 

"  'Tis  well.  Now,  men,  see  to  your  weapons — 
hatchets  and  knives  for  all — we  shall  need  little  else, 
but  fearless  hearts  and  strong  hands.  Our  purpose  is 
to  seize  upon  that  pirate  vessel  in  the  river." 

The  men  started  with  one  accord. 

"  Ay,  no  less.  It's  a  perilous  service,  but  not  so 
perilous  as  it  appears.  I  happen  to  know  that  there 
are  now  not  two  men  on  board  of  the  vessel  accus- 
tomed to  the  management  of  the  guns — not  fifteen  on 
board  in  all.  Granger  has  got  us  boats  in  plenty,  and 
I  have  conceived  a  plan  by  which  we  shall  attack  her 
on  all  points.  Something  of  our  success  will  depend 
upon  their  consciousness  of  weakness.  They  are 
without  a  commander,  and  their  men  accustomed  to 
fighting  are  in  our  woods  dead  or  running,  and  in  no 
ability  to  serve  them.  The  show  of  numbers,  and  ten 
or  a  dozen  boats  with  stout  men  approaching  them, 
will  do  much  with  their  fears.  We  shall  thus  board 
them  with  advantage ;  and  though  I  hope  not  to  es- 
cape with  all  of  us  unhurt,  I  am  persuaded  we  shall 
be  successful  without  much  loss.  Master  Hugh  Gray- 
son will  command  three  of  the  boats,  Master  Walter 
Grayson  three  others,  and  the  rest  will  be  with  me. 

Vol.  II. 


218  THE     YEMASSEE. 

You  have  now  heard.  If,  like  the  doctor  here,  any  of 
you  object  to  proceeding,  on  principle,  against  this  pi- 
rate who  has  sought  the  destruction  of  our  people 
well  and  good — they  are  at  liberty  to  withdraw,  and 
we  shall  look  for  other  men  less  scrupulous.  Who  is 
ready  ?" 

The  confident,— almost  careless  manner  of  the 
speaker,  was  of  more  effect  than  his  language.  The 
cry  was  unanimous : 

"  Lead  on — we  are  ready." 

"  I  thank  you,  my  merry  men,  and  old  England 
for  ever !  Master  Hugh  Grayson,  and  you,  friend 
Walter, — let  us  counsel  here  a  moment." 

He  led  them  aside,  and  together  they  matured  the 
plan  of  attack.  Then  leaving  them  to  parcel  off  the 
men,  Harrison  stole  away  for  a  few  moments  into  the 
silent  grove  where  the  pastor's  family  was  sheltered. 
As  we  have  no  business  there,  we  can  only  conjecture 
the  motive  of  his  visit.  A  press  of  the  hand  from  the 
beloved  one  were  much  to  one  about  to  go  upon  an 
adventure  of  life  and  death.  He  returned  in  a  few 
moments  with  increased  alacrity,  and  led  the  way  to 
the  boats,  eleven  in  number,  which  Granger  in  the 
meantime  had  selected  from  those  employed  by  the 
Indians  in  crossing  the  preceding  night.  They  were 
small,  but  sufficiently  large  for  the  men  apportioned  to 
each.  In  their  ditninutiveness,  too,  lay  much  of  their 
safety  from  the  great  guns  of  the  vessel. 

Leading  the  way,  the  boat  of  Harrison,  followed  by 
those  in  his  charge,  shot  ahead  of  the  rest,  bearing 
down  full  upon  the  broadside  of  the  pirate.  This  was 
the  most  dangerous  point  of  approach.  The  two 
Graysons  led  their  separate  force,  the  one  to  reach  the 
opposite  side,  the  other  at  the  stern  lights,  in  order 
that  the  attack  should  be  simultaneous  at  all  vulnera- 
ble places.  In  this  manner  the  six  boats  covered  the 
various  assailable  points  of  the  vessel ;  and  necessa- 
rily, by  dividing  their  force  for  the  protection  of  each 
quarter,  weakened  the  capacity  of  the  seamen  to  con- 
tend with  them. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  219 

The  pirate  lay  at  about  a  mile  and  a  half  below 
them  upon  the  river — her  form  in  perfect  repose — and 
even  weaker  in  her  force  than  Harrison  had  conjec- 
tured. Bewildered  with  his  situation,  and  unaccus- 
tomed to  command,  the  inferior  officer,  left  in  tempo- 
rary charge  of  her  by  Chorley,  had  done  nothing,  and 
indeed  could  do  nothing  toward  the  defence  of  h\s 
vessel.  The  few  men  left  with  him  had  become  re- 
fractory ;  and  with  the  reputed  recklessness  of  men  in 
their  way  of  life,  had  proceeded,  during  the  absence 
;of  Chorley,  whom  they  feared  rather  than  respected, 
to  all  manner  of  excess.  Liquor,  freely  distributed 
by  the  commanding  officer,  with  the  hope  to  pacify, 
had  only  the  effect  of  stimulating  their  violence  ;  and 
the  approach  of  the  assailing  party,  magnified  by  their 
fears  and  excesses,  found  them  without  energy  to  re 
sist,  and  scarcely  ability  to  fly.  The  lieutenant  did 
indeed  endeavour  to  bring  them  to  some  order  and 
show  of  defence.  With  his  own  hand  he  rigged  up  a 
gun,  which  he  pointed  among  the  approaching  boats. 
The  scattering  and  whizzing  shot  Avould  have  been 
fatal,  had  the  aim  been  better ;  but  apprehension  and 
excitement  had  disturbed  too  greatly  the  mental  equi- 
librium of  officer  and  men  alike  ;  and  not  anticipating 
such  a  result  to  their  adventure,  and  having  no  thought 
themselves  of  being  attacked  where  they  had  come  to 
be  assailants,  they  fell  into  a  panic  from  which  they 
did  not  seek  to  recover.  The  failure  of  the  shot  to 
injure  their  enemies  completed  their  apprehension ; 
and,  as  the  little  squadron  of  Harrison  continued  to 
approach,  without  fear  and  without  obstruction,  the 
refractory  seamen  let  down  their  own  boats  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  opposite  shore,  and,  so  considerably  in 
advance  of  the  Carolinians  as  to  defy  pursuit,  were 
seen  by  them  pulling  with  all  industry  toward  the  In- 
dian country.  A  single  man,  the  lieutenant,  appeared 
on  board  for  a  few  moments  after  they  had  left  the 
vessel ;  but  whether  he  remained  from  choice,  or  that 
they  refused  to  take  him  with  them,  was  at  that  time 


220  THE    YEMASSEE. 

a  mystery  to  the  assailing  party.  His  design  may  be 
guessed  at  in  the  sequel. 

Despatching  the  Graysons  in  pursuit  of  the  flying 
pirates,  whose  number  did  not  exceed  ten  men,  Harri- 
son brought  his  boat  alongside  the  vessel,  and  reso- 
lutely leaped  on  board.  But  where  was  the  lieutenant 
he  had  seen  but  a  few  minutes  before  ?  He  called 
aloud,  and  traversed  the  deck  in  search  of  him,  but  in 
vain.  He  was  about  to  descend  to  the  cabin,  when 
he  felt  himself  suddenly  seized  upon  by  Hector,  who, 
with  looks  of  excited  terror,  dragged  him  forward  to 
the  side  of  the  vessel,  and  with  a  directing  finger  and 
a  single  word,  developed  their  full  danger  to  his  master. 

"  Mossa — de  ship  da  burn — look  at  de  smoke — jump, 
mossa,  for  dear  life — jump  in  de  water."  It  needed 
no  second  word — they  sprang  over  the  side  of  the  ves- 
sel at  the  same  instant  that  an  immense  body  of  dense 
sulphureous  vapour  ascended  from  below.  The  river 
received  them,  for  their  boat  had  been  pushed  off",  with 
a  proper  precaution,  to  a  little  distance.  Ere  they 
were  taken  up,  the  catastrophe  was  over — the  explo- 
sion had  taken  place,  and  the  sky  was  blackened  with 
the  smoke  and  fragments  of  the  vessel  upon  which, 
but  a  few  moments  before,  they  had  stood  in  perfect 
safety.  But  where  was  the  lieutenant  ? — where  ?  He 
had  been  precipitate  in  his  application  of  the  match, 
and  his  desperation  found  but  a  single  victim  in  him- 
self! 


THE    YEMASSEE.  221 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

"  It  is  the  story's  picture — we  must  group, 
So  that  the  eye  may  see  what  the  quick  mind 
Has  chronicled  before.     The  painter's  art 
Is  twin  unto  the  poet's — both  were  born, 
That  truth  might  have  a  tone  of  melody, 
And  fancy  shape  her  motion  into  grace." 

A  motley  assemblage  gathered  at  the  Chiefs  Bluff, 
upon  the  banks  of  the  Pocota-ligo,  at  an  early  hour  on 
the  day  so  full  of  incident.  A  fine  day  after  so  foul  a 
promise — the  sun  streamed  brightly,  and  the  skies  with- 
out a  cloud  looked  down  peacefully  over  the  settlement. 
But  there  was  little  sympathy  among  the  minds  of  the 
borderers  with  such  a  prospect.  They  had  suffered 
quite  too  much,  and  their  sufferings  were  quite  too 
fresh  in  their  minds,  properly  to  feel  it.  Worn  out 
with  fatigue,  and  not  yet  recovered  from  their  trials 
and  terrors — now  struggling  onward  with  great  effort, 
and  now  borne  in  the  arms  of  the  more  able-bodied 
among  the  men,  came  forward  the  women  and  children 
who  had  been  sheltered  in  the  Block  House.  That 
structure  was  now  in  ashes — so  indeed,  generally 
speaking,  were  all  the  dwellings  between  that  point 
and  Pocota-ligo.  Below  the  former  point,  however, 
thanks  to  the  manful  courage  and  ready  appearance  of 
Hugh  Grayson  with  the  troop  he  had  brought  up,  the 
horrors  of  the  war  had  not  extended.  But  in  all  other 
quarters,  the  insurrection  had  been  successful.  Far 
and  wide,  scattering  themselves  in  bands  over  every 
other  part  of  the  colony,  the  Yemassees  and  their 
numerous  allies  were  carrying  the  terrors  of  their  arms 
through  the  unprepared  and  unprotected  settlement, 
down  to  the  very  gates  of  Charlestown — the  chief 
town  and  principal  rallying  point  of  the  Carolinians, 
and  there  the  inhabitants  were  literally  walled  in,  un 


222  THE    YEMASSEE.    • 

able  to  escape  unless  by  sea,  and  then,  only  from  the 
country.  But  this  belongs  elsewhere.  The  group 
now  assembled  upon  the  banks  of  the  Pocota-ligo,  ab 
sorbed  as  they  were  in  their  own  grievances,  had  not 
thought  of  the  condition  of  their  neighbours.  The 
straits  and  sufferings  of  the  other  settlements  were 
utterly  unimagined  by  them  generally.  But  one  per- 
son of  all  the  group  properly  conjectured  the  extend 
of  the  insurrection — that  was  Harrison.  He  had  been 
a  part  witness  to  the  league — had  counted  the  various 
tribes  represented  in  that  gloomy  dance  of  death — the 
club  and  scalp-dance — the  rites  of  demoniac  concep- 
tion and  origin ; — and  he  felt  that  the  very  escape  of 
the  people  around  him  only  arose  from  the  concentra- 
tion of  the  greater  force  of  the  savages  upon  the  more 
populous  settlements  of  the  Carolinians.  Full  of  satis- 
faction that  so  many  had  been  saved,  his  mind  was  yet 
crowded  with  the  thousand  apprehensions  that  came 
with  his  knowledge  of  the  greater  danger  to  which  the 
rest  of  the  colony  was  exposed.  He  knew  the  strong 
body  commanded  by  Sanutee  to  be  gone  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Ashley  river  settlement.  He  knew  that  a 
force  of  Spaniards  was  expected  to  join  them  from  St. 
Augustine,  but  whether  by  sea  or  land  was  yet  to  be 
determined.  He  felt  the  uncertainty  of  his  position, 
and  how  doubtful  was  the  condition  of  the  province 
under  such  an  array  of  enemies ;  but  with  a  mind  still 
cheerful,  he  gave  his  orders  for  the  immediate  remove, 
by  water,  to  the  city  ;  and  having  completed  his  prep- 
arations as  well  as  he  might,  and  while  the  subordi- 
nates were  busied  in  procuring  boats,  he  gave  himself, 
for  a  brief  time,  to  the  family  of  Bess  Matthews. 
IiOng  and  sweet  was  the  murmuring  conversation  car- 
ried on  between  the  lovers.  Like  a  stream  relieved 
from  the  pressure  of  the  ice,  her  affections  now  poured 
themselves  freely  into  his.  The  consent  of  her  father 
had  been  given,  even  if  his  scruples  had  not  been 
withdrawn,  and  that  was  enough.  Her  hand  rested  in 
the  clasp  of  his,  and  the  unrebuking  eyes  of  the  old 
Puritan  gave  it  a  sufficient  sanction.     Matthews  may 


THE    YEMASSEE.  223 

have  sought,  in  what  he  then  said,  to  satisfy  himself  of 
the  necessity  for  his  consent,  if  he  had  failed  to  satisfy 
his  conscience. 

"  She  is  yours,  Captain  Harrison — she  is  yours  ! 
But  for  you,  but  for  you,  God  knows,  and  I  dread  to 
think,  what  would  have  been  her  fate  in  the  hands  of 
that  bad  man.  Bad  from  his  cradle,  for  I  knew  him 
from  that  time,  and  knew  that,  mischief  then,  and 
crime  when  he  grew  older,  were  his  familiar  play- 
mates, and  his  most  companionable  thoughts." 

"  You  were  slow  in  discovering  it,  sir,"  was  the  re- 
ply of  Harrison — "  certainly  slow  in  acknowledging  it 
to  me." 

"  I  had  a  hope,  Master  Harrison,  that  he  had  grown 
a  wiser  and  a  better  man,  and  was  therefore  unwilling 
to  mortify  him  with  the  recollection  of  the  past,  or  to 
make  it  public  to  his  ill-being.  But  let  us  speak  of 
him  no  more.  There  are  other  topics  far  more  grate- 
ful in  the  recollection  of  our  escape  from  this  dreadful 
night ;  and  long  and  fervent  should  be  our  prayers  to 
the  benevolent  Providence  who  has  had  us  so  affec- 
tionately in  his  care.  But  what  now  are  we  to  do, 
Captain  Harrison — what  is  our  hope  of  safety,  and 
where  are  we  to  go  1" 

"  I  have  thought  of  all  this,  sir.  There  is  but  one 
course  for  us,  and  that  is  to  place  the  young  and  feeble 
safely  in  Charlestown.  There  is  no  safety  short  of 
that  point." 

"  How— not  at  Port  Royal  Island  V 

"  No !  not  even  there — we  shall  be  compelled  to 
hurry  past  it  now  as  rapidly  as  possible  in  our  way  to 
the  place  of  refuge — the  only  place  that  can  now  cer- 
tainly be  considered  such." 

"  What — shall  we  go  by  water  ?" 

"  There  is  no  other  way.  By  this  time,  scarce  a 
mile  of  wood  between  Pocota-ligo  and  Charlestown 
itself  but  is  filled  by  savages.  I  saw  the  force  last 
night,  and  that  with  which  we  contended  was  nothing 
to  the  numbers  pledged  in  this  insurrection.  They 
38 


224  THE    YEMASSEE. 

did  not  look  for  resistance  here,  and  hence  the  small- 
ness  of  their  numbers  in  this  quarter." 

"  And  to  your  wise  precautions,  Master  Harrison, 
we  owe  all  this.     How  unjust  1  have  been  to  you,  sir  !" 

"  Speak  not  of  it,  Master  Matthews — you  have  more 
than  atoned  in  the  rich  possession  which  I  now  hold. 
Ah,  Bess  ! — I  see  you  look  for  the  promised  secret. 
Well,  it  shall  be  told.  But  stay — I  have  a  duty. — 
Pardon  me  a  while." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  made  a  signal  to  Hector, 
who  now  came  forward  with  the  dog  Dugdale,  which 
had  been  wounded  with  an  arrow  in  the  side,  not  seri- 
ously, but  painfully,  as  was  evident  from  the  wri- 
things  and  occasional  moanings  of  the  animal,  while 
Hector  busied  himself  plastering  the  wound  with  the 
resinous  gum  of  the  pine-tree. 

"  Hector,"  said  his  master,  as  he  approached — "  give 
me  Dugdale.  Henceforward  I  shall  take  care  of  him 
myself." 

"  Sa !  mossa,"  exclaimed  the  negro,  with  an  expres- 
sion almost  of  terrified  amazement  in  his  countenance. 

"  Yes,  Hector, — you  are  now  free. — I  give  you  your 
freedom,  old  fellow.  Here  is  money  too,  and  in 
Charlestown  you  shall  have  a  house  to  live  in  for  your- 
self." 

"  No,  mossa. — I  can't,  sir — I  can't  be  free,"  replied 
the  negro,  shaking  his  head,  and  endeavouring  to  re- 
sume possession  of  the  strong  cord  which  secured  the 
dog,  and  which  Harrison  had  taken  into  his  own  hand. 

"  Why  can't  you,  Hector  ?  What  do  you  mean  ? 
Am  I  not  your  master  ?  Can't  I  make  you  free,  and 
don't  I  tell  you  that  I  do  make  you  free  1  From  this 
moment  you  are  your  own  master." 

"  Wha'-for,  mossa  ?  Wha'  Hector  done,  you  guine 
turn  um  off  dis  time  o'  day?" 

"  Done  !  You  have  saved  my  life,  old  fellow — you 
have  fought  for  me  like  a  friend,  and  I  am  now  your 
friend,  and  not  any  longer  your  master." 

"  Ki,  mossa !  enty  you  always  been  frien'  to  Hector  ? 
Enty  you  gib  um  physic  when  he  sick,  and  come  see 


THE    YEMASSEE.  225 

and  talk  wid  um,  and  do  ebbery  ting  he  want  you  for 
do  1     What  more  you  guine  do,  now  V 

"  Yes,  Hector,  I  have  done  for  you  all  this — but  I 
have  done  it  because  you  were  my  slave,  and  because 
I  was  bound  to  do  it." 

"  Ah,  you  no  want  to  be  boun'  any  longer.  Da's  it ! 
I  see.  You  want  Hector  for  eat  acorn  wid  de  hog,  and 
take  de  swamp  wid  de  Injin,  enty  ?" 

"  Not  so,  old  fellow — but  I  cannot  call  you  my  slave 
when  I  would  call  you  my  friend.  I  shall  get  another 
slave  to  carry  Dugdale,  and  you  shall  be  free." 

"  I  dam  to  hell,  mossa,  if  I  guine  to  be  free  !"  roared 
the  adhesive  black,  in  a  tone  of  unrestrainable  deter- 
mination. "  I  can't  loss  you  company,  and  who  de 
debble  Dugdale  will  let  feed  him  like  Hector  ?  'Tis 
unpossible,  mossa,  and  dere's  no  use  to  talk  'bout  it. 
De  ting  aint  right ;  and  enty  I  know  wha'  kind  of  ting 
freedom  is  wid  black  man  ?  Ha !  you  make  Hector 
free,  he  come  wuss  more  nor  poor  buckrah — he  tief 
out  of  de  shop — he  get  drunk  and  lie  in  de  ditch — den, 
if  sick  come,  he  roll,  he  toss  in  de  wet  grass  of  de 
stable.  You  come  in  de  morning,  Hector  dead — and, 
who  know — he  no  take  physic,  he  no  hab  parson — 
who  know,  I  say,  mossa,  but  de  debble  fine  em  'fore 
anybody  else  1  No,  mossa — you  and  Dugdale  berry 
good  company  for  Hector.  I  tank  God  he  so  good — 
I  no  want  any  better." 

The  negro  was  positive,  and  his  master,  deeply  af- 
fected with  this  evidence  of  his  attachment,  turned 
away  in  silence,  offering  no  farther  obstruction  to  the 
desperate  hold  which  he  again  took  of  the  wounded 
Dugdale.  Approaching  the  little  group  from  which  but 
a  few  moments  before  he  had  parted,  he  stood  up  in 
earnest  conversation  with  the  pastor,  while  the  hand 
of  Bess,  in  confiding  happiness  and  innocence,  was  suf- 
fered to  rest  passively  in  his  own.  It  was  a  moment 
of  delicious  rapture  to  both  parties.  But  there  was 
one  who  stood  apart,  yet  surveying  the  scene,  to  whom 
it  brought  a  pang  little  short  of  agony.  This  was  tae 
younger  Grayson.     Tears  started  to  his  eyes  as  he 


226  THE    YEMASSEE. 

beheld  them,  and  he  turned  away  from  the  group  in 
a  suffering  anguish,  that,  for  the  moment,  brought  back 
those  sterner  feelings  which  he  had  hitherto  so  well 
suppressed.  The  eye  of  Harrison  caught  the  move- 
ment, and  readily  divined  its  cause.  Calling  Granger 
to  him,  he  demanded  from  him  a  small  packet  which 
he  had  intrusted  to  his  care  on  leaving  the  Block  House 
for  Pocota-ligo  the  evening  before.  The  question  dis- 
turbed the  trader  not  a  little,  who,  at  length,  frankly 
confessed  he  had  mislaid  it. 

"  Say  not  so,  man  !  think  ! — that  packet  is  of 
value,  and  holds  the  last  treaty  of  the  colony  with  the 
Queen  of  St.  Helena,  and  the  Cassique  of  Combahee — 
not  to  speak  of  private  despatches,  set  against  which 
thy  worthless  life  would  have  no  value  !  Look,  man, 
as  thou  lovest  thy  quiet !" 

"  It  is  here,  sir — all  in  safety,  as  thou  gavest  it  him," 
said  the  wife  of  the  trader,  coming  forward.  "  In  the 
hurry  of  the  fight  he  gave  it  me  for  safe-keeping,  though 
too  much  worried  to  think  afterward  of  the  trust." 

"  Thou  art  a  strong-minded  woman — and  'tis  well 
for  Granger  that  thou  hast  him  in  charge.  Take 
my  thanks  for  thy  discharge  of  duties  self-assumed, 
and  not  assigned  thee.  Thou  shalt  be  remembered." 
Possessing  himself  of  the  packet,  he  approached 
Hugh  Grayson,  who  stood  sullenly  apart,  and  drawing 
from  its  folds  a  broad  sheet  of  parchment,  he  thus 
addressed  him : — 

"  Master  Grayson,  the  colony  owes  thee  thanks  for 
thy  good  service,  and  would  have  more  from  thee.  I 
know  not  one  in  whom,  at  such  a  time,  its  proprietary 
lords  can  better  confide,  in  this  contest,  than  in  thee. 
Thou  hast  courage,  enterprise,  and  conduct — art  not 
too  rash,  nor  yet  too  sluggard — but,  to  my  poor  mind, 
thou  combinest  happily  all  the  materials  which  should 
make  a  good  captain.  Thou  hast  a  little  mistaken  me 
in  some  things,  and,  perhaps,  thou  hast  something  erred 
in  estimating  thyself.  But  thou  art  young,  and  respon- 
sibility makes  the  man — nothing  like  responsibility ! 
So  thinking,  and  with  a  frank  speech,  I  beg  of  thee  to  . 


THE    YEMASSEE.  227 

accept  this  commission.  It  confers  on  thee  all  military 
command  in  this  county  of  Granville,  to  pursue  the 
enemies  of  the  colony  with  fire  and  sword — to  control 
its  people  for  the  purposes  of  war  in  dangerous  times 
like  the  present — and  to  do,  so  long  as  this  insurrection 
shall  continue,  whatever  may  seem  wise  to  thy  mind, 
for  the  proprietors  and  for  the  people,  as  if  they  had 
spoken  through  thy  own  mouth.  Is  the  trust  agreeable 
to  thee  ?" 

"  Who  art  thou  V  was  the  surprised  response  of  the 
youth,  looking  a  degree  of  astonishment,  corresponding 
with  that  upon  the  faces  of  all  around,  to  whom  the 
speaker  had  hitherto  only  been  known  as  Gabriel  Har- 
rison. 

"  True — let  me  answer  that  question.  The  reply 
belongs  to  more  than  one.  Bess,  dearest,  thou  shalt 
now  be  satisfied  ;  but  in  learning  my  secret,  thou  losest 
thy  lover.  Know,  then,  thou  hast  Gabriel  Harrison  no 
longer  !  I  am  Charles  Craven,  Governor  and  Lord 
Palatine  of  Carolina !" 

She  sunk  with  a  tearful  pleasure  into  his  arms  as 
he  spoke,  and  the  joyful  shout  of  all  around  attested 
the  gratification  with  which  the  people  recognised  in 
an  old  acquaintance  the  most  popular  governor  of  the 
Carolinas,  under  the  lords-proprietors,  which  the  Caro- 
linians ever  had. 

"  I  take  your  commission,  my  lord,"  replied  Gray- 
son, with  a  degree  of  firm  manliness  superseding  his 
gloomy  expression  and  clearing  it  away — "  I  take  it, 
sir,  and  will  proceed  at  once  to  the  execution  of  its 
duties.  Your  present  suggestions,  sir,  will  be  of 
value." 

"  You  shall  have  them,  Master  Grayson,  in  few 
words,"  was  the  reply  of  the  palatine.  "  It  will  be 
your  plan  to  move  down  with  your  present  force  along 
the  river,  taking  with  you,  as  you  proceed,  all  the  set- 
tlers, so  as  to  secure  their  safety.  Your  point  of  rest 
and  defence  will  be  the  fort  at  Port  Royal,  which  now 
lacks  most  of  its  garrison  from  the  draught  made  on  it 
by  my  orders  to  Bellinger,  and  which  gave  you  com- 
38* 


228  THE    YEMASSEE. 

mand  of  the  brave  men  you  brought  up  last  night.  I 
shall  be  at  Port  Royal  before  you,  and  will  do  what  I 
may  there,  in  the  meanwhile,  toward  its  preparation, 
whether  for  friend  or  foe.  With  your  present  force, 
and  what  I  shall  send  you  on  my  arrival  at  Charlestown, 
you  will  be  adequate  to  its  defence." 

"Ahem,  ahem  ! — My  lord,"  cried  Nichols,  awkwardly 
approaching — "  My  lord,  permit  me,  with  all  due  hu- 
mility, to  suggest  that  the  duties  so  assigned  Master 
Grayson  are  heavy  upon  such  young  hands.  Ahem  ! 
my  lord — it  is  not  now  that  I  have  to  say  that  I  have 
never  yet  shrunk  from  the  service  of  the  people.  I 
would — " 

"  Ay,  ay,  Nichols — I  know  what  you  would  say,  and 
duly  estimate  your  public  spirit ;  but,  as  you  are  the 
only  surgeon — indeed,  the  only  medical  man  in  the 
parish — to  risk  your  life  unnecessarily,  in  a  command 
so  full  of  risk  as  that  assigned  Master  Grayson,  would 
be  very  injudicious.  We  may  spare  a  soldier — or  even 
an  officer — but  the  loss  of  a  doctor  is  not  so  easily 
supplied — and" — here  his  voice  sunk  into  a  whisper, 
as  he  finished  the  sentence  in  the  ears  of  the  patriot — 
"  the  probability  is,  that  your  commander,  from  the 
perilous  service  upon  which  he  goes,  will  be  the  very 
first  to  claim  your  skill." 

"  Well,  my  lord,  if  I  must,  I  must — but  you  can  un- 
derstand, though  it  does  not  become  me  to  say,  how 
readily  I  should  meet  death  in  behalf  of  the  people." 

"  That  I  know — that  I  know,  Nichols.  Your  pa- 
triotism is  duly  estimated  Enough,  now — and  fare- 
well, gentlemen — God  speed,  and  be  your  surety. 
Granger,  let  us  have  boats  for  the  city." 

"Young  missis,"  whispered  Hector,  taking  Bess 
Matthews  aside — "  let  me  beg  you  call  Hector  your 
sarbant — tell  mossa  you  must  hab  me — dat  you  can't 
do  widout  me,  and  den,  you  see,  misses,  he  wun't  bod- 
der  me  any  more  wid  he  long  talk  'bout  freedom.  Den, 
you  see,  he  can't  turn  me  off",  no  how."  She  promised 
him  as  he  desired,  and  he  went  off  to  the  boats  sing- 
ing :— 


THE    YEMASSEE.  229 

"  Go  hush  you  tongue,  black  nigger, 

Wha'  for  you  grumble  so '! 

You  hab  you  own  good  mossa, 

And  you  hab  good  misses  too : 
1  Che-weet,  che-weet,'  de  little  bird  cry, 

When  he  put  he  nose  under  he  wing, 
But  he  hab  no  song  like  Hector  make, 
*  When  de  young  misses  yerry  urn  sing." 

"'  Well,  good-by,  Mossa  Doctor,  good-by  !  Dem  Ingins 
'member  you  long  time — dem  dat  you  kill !" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  you  black  rascal !"  cried  Con- 
stantine  Maximilian  to  the  retreating  negro,  who  saw 
the  regretful  expression  with  which  the  medical  man 
surveyed  the  preparation  for  a  departure  from  the  scene 
of  danger,  in  the  securities  of  which  he  was  not  per- 
mitted to  partake.  Three  cheers  marked  the  first 
plunge  of  the  boats  from  the  banks,  bearing  off  the 
gallant  palatine  with  his  peerless  forest-flower. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

"  Truthe,  this  is  an  olde  chronycle,  ywritte 
Ynne  a  strange  lettere,  whyche  myne  eyne  have  redde 
Whenne  birchen  were  a  lessonne  of  the  schoole, 
Of  nighe  applyance.    I  doe  note  it  welle, 
'1  faithe,  evenne  by  that  tokenne  ;  albeit  muche, 
The  type  hath  worne  away  to  skeleton, 
That  once,  lyke  some  fatte,  pursy  aldermanne, 
Stoode  uppe  in  twentie  stonne." 

Our  tale  becomes  history.  The  web  of  fiction  is 
woven — the  romance  is  nigh  over.  The  old  wizard 
may  not  trench  upon  the  territories  of  truth.  He  stops 
short  at  her  approach  with  a  becoming  reverence.  It 
is  for  all  things,  even  for  the  upsoaring  fancy,  to  wor- 
ship and  keep  to  the  truth.  There  is  no  security  un- 
less in  its  restraints.  The  fancy  may  play  capri- 
ciously only  with  the  unknown.  Where  history  dare 
not  go,  it  is  then  for  poetry,  borrowing  a  wild  gleam  from 
the  blear  eye  of  tradition,  to  couple  with  her  own  the 


230  THE    YEMASSEE. 

wings  of  imagination,  and  overleap  the  boundaries  of 
the  defined  and  certain.  We  have  done  this  in  our 
written  pages.  We  may  do  this  no  longer.  The 
old  chronicle  is  before  us,  and  the  sedate  muse  of  his- 
tory, from  her  graven  tablets,  dictates  for  the  future. 
We  write  at  her  bidding  now. 

In  safety,  and  with  no  long  delay,  Harrison, — or,  as 
We  should  now  call  him, — the  palatine, — reached 
Charlestown,  the  metropolis  of  Carolina.  He  found  it 
in  sad  dilemma  and  dismay.  As  he  had  feared,  the 
warlike  savages  were  at  its  gates.  The  citizens 
were  hemmed  in — confined  to  the  shelter  of  the  seven 
forts  which  girdled  its  dwellings — half-starved,  and 
kept  in  constant  watchfulness  against  hourly  surprise. 
The  Indians  had  ravaged  with  fire  and  the  tomahawk 
all  the  intervening  country.  Hundreds  of  the  innocent 
and  unthinking  inhabitants  had  perished  by  deaths  the 
most  painful  and  protracted.  The  farmer  had  been 
shot  down  in  the  furrows  where  he  sowed  his  corn. 
His  child  had  been  butchered  upon  the  threshold, 
where,  hearing  the  approaching  footsteps,  it  had  run 
to  meet  its  father.  The  long  hair  of  his  young  wife, 
grasped  in  the  clutches  of  the  murderer,  became  an 
agent  of  torture,  which  had  once  been  an  attraction  and 
a  pride.  Death  and  desolation  smoked  along  the  wide 
stretch  of  country  bordering  the  coast,  and  designating 
the  route  of  European  settlement  in  the  interior.  In 
the  neighbourhood  of  Pocota-ligo  alone,  ninety  persons 
were  destroyed.  St.  Bartholomew's  parish  was  rav- 
aged— the  settlement  of  Stono,  including  the  beautiful 
little  church  of  that  place,  was  entirely  destroyed  by  fire, 
While  but  few  of  the  inhabitants,  even  of  the  surround- 
ing plantations,  escaped  the  fury  of  the  invaders.  All 
the  country  about  Dorchester,  then  new  as  a  settle- 
ment, and  forming  the  nucleus  of  that  once  beautiful 
and  attractive,  but  thrice-doomed  village,  shared  the 
same  fate,  until  the  invaders  reached  Goose  Creek, 
when  the  sturdy  militia  of  that  parish,  led  on  by  Cap- 
tain Chiquang,  a  gallant  young  Huguenot,  gave  them 
a  repulse,  and  succeeding  in  throwing  themselves  be 


THE    YEMASSEE.  231 

tween  the  savages  and  the  city,  reached  Charlestown, 
in  time  to  assist  in  the  preparations  making  for  its 
defence. 

The  arrival  of  the  palatine  gave  a  new  life  and  fresh 
confidence  to  the  people.  His  course  was  such  as 
might  have  been  expected  from  his  decisive  character. 
He  at  once  proclaimed  martial  law — laid  an  embargo, 
preventing  the  departure  of  any  of  the  male  citizens, 
and  the  exportation  of  clothes,  provisions,  or  any  thing 
which  might  be  useful  to  the  colonists  in  their  exist- 
ing condition.  Waiting  for  no  act  of  assembly  to  au- 
thorize his  proceedings,  but  trusting  to  their  subse- 
quent sense  of  right  to  acknowledge  and  ratify  what 
he  had  done,  as  was  indeed  the  case,  he  proceeded  by 
draught,  levy,  and  impressment,  to  raise  an  army  of 
eleven  hundred  men,  in  addition  to  those  employed  in 
maintaining  the  capital.  In  this  proceeding  he  still 
more  signally  showed  his  decision  of  character,  by 
venturing  upon  an  experiment  sufficiently  dangerous 
to  alarm  those  not  acquainted  with  the  condition  of  the 
southern  negro.  Four  hundred  of  the  army  so  raised, 
consisted  of  slaves,  drawn  from  the  parishes  according  to 
assessment.  Charlestown  gave  thirty — Christ  Church, 
sixteen — St.  Thomas  and  St.  Dennis,  fifty-five — St. 
James,  Goose  Creek,  fifty-five — St.  Andrews,  eighty — 
St.  John's,  Berkley,  sixty — St.  Paul's,  forty-five — St. 
James',  Santee,  thirty-five — St.  Bartholomew's,  sixteen 
— St.  Helena,  eight — making  up  the  required  total  of 
four  hundred.  To  these,  add  six  hundred  Carolinians, 
and  one  hundred  friendly  Indians  or  allies ;  these  lat- 
ter being  Tuscaroras,*  from  North  Carolina,  almost  the 
only  Indian  nation  in  the  south  not  in  league  against 
the  colony.  Other  bodies  of  men  were  also  raised  for 
stations,  keeping  possession  of  the  Block  Houses  at 
points  most  accessible  to  the  foe,  and  where  the  de- 
fence was  most  important.  At  the  Savano  town,  a 
corps  of  forty  men  were  stationed — a  similar  force  at 

*  Apart  from  his  pay  in  this  war,  each  Tuscarora  received,  on  re- 
turning home,  as  a  bounty,  one  gun,  one  hatchet ;  and  for  every  slave 
which  he  may  have  lost,  an  enemy's  slave  in  return ! 


232  THE    YEMASSEE. 

Rawlin's  Bluff  on  the  Edistoh ;  at  Port  Royal ;  on  the 
Combahee ;  at  the  Horseshoe — and  other  places,  in 
like  manner,  forming  so  many  certain  garrisons  to  the 
end  of  the  war.  All  other  steps  taken  by  the  palatine 
were  equally  decisive  ;  and  such  were  the  severe  and 
summary  penalties  annexed  to  the  non-performance  of 
the  duties  required  from  the  citizen,  that  there  was 
no  evasion  of  their  execution.  Death  was  the  doom, 
whether  of  desertion  from  duty,  or  of  a  neglect  to  ap- 
pear at  the  summons  to  the  field.  The  sinews  of  war 
in  another  respect  were  also  provided  by  the  palatine. 
He  issued  bills  of  credit  for  30,000Z.  to  raise  supplies  j 
the  counterfeiting  of  which,  under  the  decree  of  the 
privy  council,  was  punishable  by  death  without  benefit 
of  clergy.  Having  thus  prepared  for  the  contest,  he 
placed  himself  at  the  head  of  his  rude  levies,  and  with 
a  word  of  promise  and  sweet  regret  to  his  young  bride, 
he  marched  out  to  meet  the  enemy. 

War  with  the  American  Indians  was  a  matter  of  far 
greater  romance  than  modern  European  warfare  pos- 
sibly can  be.  There  was  nothing  of  regular  array  in 
such  conflicts  as  those  of  the  borderers  with  the  sava- 
ges ;  and  individual  combats,  such  as  give  interest  to 
story,  were  common  events  in  all  such  issues.  The 
borderer  singled  out  his  foe,  and  grappled  with  him  in 
the  full  confidence  of  superior  muscle.  With  him, 
too,  every  ball  was  fated.  He  threw  away  no  shot  in 
line.  His  eye  conducted  his  finger ;  and  he  touched 
no  trigger,  unless  he  first  ranged  the  white  drop  at  the 
muzzle  of  his  piece  upon  some  vital  point  of  his  foe's 
person.  War,  really,  was  an  art,  and  a  highly  inge- 
nious one,  in  the  deep  recesses  and  close  swamps  of 
the  southern  forests..  There  was  no  bull-headed 
marching  up  to  the  mouth  of  the  cannon.  Their  pride 
was  to  get  around  it — to  come  in  upon  the  rear — to 
insinuate — to  dodge — to  play  with  the  fears  or  the 
false  confidence  of  the  foe,  so  as  to  effect  by  surprise 
what  could  not  be  done  by  other  means.  These  were 
the  arts  of  the  savages.  It  was  fortunate  for  the  Caro- 
linians that  their  present  leader  knew  them  so  well. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  233 

Practised  as  he  had  been,  the  palatine  proceeded 
leisurely,  but  decisively,  to  contend  with  his  enemies 
on  their  own  ground,  and  after  their  own  fashion.  He 
omitted  no  caution  which  could  ensure  against  sur- 
prise, and  at  the  same  time  he  allowed  himself  no  de- 
lay. Gradually  advancing,  with  spies  always  out,  he 
foiled  all  the  efforts  of  his  adversary.  In  vain  did  San- 
utee  put  all  his  warrior  skill  in  requisition.  In  vain 
did  his  most  cunning  braves  gather  along  the  sheltered 
path  in  ambuscade.  In  vain  did  they  show  themselves 
in  small  numbers,  and  invite  pursuit  by  an  exhibition 
of  timidity.  The  ranks  of  the  Carolinians  remained 
unbroken.  There  was  no  exciting  their  leader  to  pre- 
cipitation. His  equanimity  was  invincible,  and  he 
kept  his  men  steadily  upon  their  way — still  advancing 
— still  backing  their  adversaries — and  with  courage 
and  confidence  in  themselves,  duly  increasing  with 
every  successful  step  in  their  progress. 

Sanutee  did  not  desire  battle,  until  the  force  prom- 
ised by  the  Spaniards  should  arrive.  He  was  in 
momentary  expectation  of  its  appearance.  Still,  he 
was  reluctant  to  recede  from  his  ground,  so  advan- 
tageously taken  ;  particularly,  too,  as  he  knew  that  the 
Indians,  only  capable  of  sudden  action,  are  not  the 
warriors  for  a  patient  and  protracted  watch  in  the  field, 
avoiding  the  conflict  for  which  they  have  expressly 
come  out.  His  anxieties  grew  with  the  situation 
forced  upon  him  by  the  army  and  position  of  the 
palatine  ;  and,  gradually  giving  ground,  he  was  com- 
pelled, very  reluctantly,  to  fall  back  upon  the  river 
of  Salke-hatchie,  where  the  Yemassees  had  a  small 
town,  some  twenty  miles  from  Pocota-ligo.  Here 
he  formed  his  great  camp,  determined  to  recede  no 
farther.  His  position  was  good.  The  river-swamp 
ran  in  an  irregular  sweep,  so  as  partially  to  form  in 
front  of  his  array.  His  men  he  distributed  through  a 
thick  copse  running  alongside  of  the  river,  which  lay 
directly  in  his  rear.  In  retreat,  the  swamps  were 
secure  fastnesses,  and  they  were  sufficiently  contigu- 
ous.    The  night  had  set  in  before  he  took  his  position. 


234  THE   YEMASSEE. 

The  Carolinians  were  advancing,  and  but  a  few  miles 
divided  the  two  armies.  Sanutee  felt  secure  from 
attack  so  long  as  he  maintained  his  present  position  ; 
and  sending  out  scouts,  and  preparing  all  things,  like 
a  true  warrior,  for  every  event,  he  threw  himself, 
gloomy  with  conflicting  thoughts,  under  the  shadow  of 
an  old  tree  that  rose  up  in  front  of  his  array. 

"While  he  mused,  his  ear  caught  the  approach  of  a 
light  footstep  behind  him.  He  turned,  and  his  eye 
rested  upon  Matiwan.  She  crept  humbly  toward  him, 
and  lay  at  his  feet.  He  did  not  repulse  her ;  but  his 
tones,  though  gentle  enough,  were  gloomily  sad. 

"  Would  Matiwan  strike  with  a  warrior,  that  she 
comes  to  the  camp  of  the  Yemassee  1  Is  there  no 
lodge  in  Pocota-ligo  for  the  woman  of  a  chief?" 

"  The  lodge  is  not  for  Matiwan,  if  the  chief  be  not 
there.  Shall  the  woman  have  no  eyes — what  can  the 
eye  of  Matiwan  behold  if  Sanutee  stand  not  up  before 
it.     The  boy  is  not — " 

"  Cha !  cha !  It  is  the  tongue  of  a  foolish  bird  that 
sings  after  the  season.  Let  the  woman  speak  of  the 
thing  that  is.  Would  the  chief  of  the  Yemassee  hear 
a  song  from  the  woman  ?  It  must  be  of  the  big  club, 
and  the  heavy  blow.  Blood  must  be  in  the  song,  and 
a  thick  cry." 

"  Matiwan  has  a  song  of  blood  and  a  thick  cry, 
like  Opitchi-Manneyto  makes  when  he  comes  from  the 
black  swamps  of  Edistoh.  She  saw  the  black  spirit 
with  the  last  dark.  He  stood  up  before  her  in  the 
lodge,  and  he  had  a  curse  for  the  woman,  for  Matiwan 
took  from  him  his  slave.  He  had  a  curse  for  Mati- 
wan— and  a  fire-word,  oh,  well-beloved,  for  Sanutee." 

"  Cha,  cha !  Sanutee  has  no  ear  for  the  talk  of  a 
child." 

"  The  Opitchi-Manneyto  spoke  of  Yemassee,"  said 
the  woman. 

"  Ha !  what  said  the  black  spirit  to  the  woman  of 
Yemassee  ?"  was  the  question  of  the  chief,  with  more 
earnestness. 

"  The  scalps  of  the  Yemassee  were  in  his  hand — 


THE    YEMASSEE.  235 

the  teeth  of  the  Yemassee  were  round  his  neck,  and 
he  carried  an  arrow  that  was  broken." 

"  Thou  liest — thou  hast-  a  forked  tongue,  and  a 
double  voice  for  mine  ear.  The  arrow  of  Yemassee 
is  whole." 

"  The  chief  has  a  knife  for  the  heart.  Let  the 
well-beloved  strike  the  bosom  of  Matiwan.  Oh,  chief 
— thou  wilt  see  the  red  blood  that  is  true.  Strike,  and 
tell  it  to  come.  Is  it  not  thine  ?"  she  bared  her  breast 
as  she  spoke,  and  her  eyes  were  full  upon  his  with  a 
look  of  resignation  and  of  love,  which  spoke  her  truth. 
The  old  warrior  put  his  hand  tenderly  upon  the  ex- 
posed bosom, — 

"The  blood  is  good  under  the  hand  of  Sanutee, 
Speak,  Matiwan." 

"  The  scalps  of  Yemassee — and  the  long  tuft  of  a 
chief  were  in  the  hand  of  the  Opitchi-Manneyto." 

"  What  chief?"  inquired  Sanutee. 

"  The  great  chief,  Sanutee — the  well-beloved  of  the 
Yemassee,"  groaned  the  woman,  as  she  denounced  his 
own  fate  in  the  ears  of  the  old  warrior.  She  sunk 
prostrate  before  him  when  she  had  spoken,  her  face 
prone  to  the  ground.  The  chief  was  silent  for  an 
instant  after  hearing  the  prediction  conveyed  by  her 
vision,  which  the  native  superstition,  and  his  own  pre- 
vious thoughts  of  gloom,  did  not  permit  him  to  ques- 
tion.    Raising  her  after  awhile,  he  simply  exclaimed — 

"  It  is  good  !" 

"  Shall  Matiwan  go  back  to  the  lodge  in  Pocota- 
ligo  ?"  she  asked,  in  a  tone  which  plainly  enough 
craved  permission  to  remain. 

"  Matiwan  will  stay.  The  battle-god  comes  with 
the  next  sun,  and  the  Happy  Valley  is  open  for  the 
chief." 

"  Matiwan  is  glad.  The  Happy  Valley  is  for  the 
woman  of  the  chief,  and  the  boy — " 

"  Cha !  it  is  good,   Matiwan,  that  thou  didst  strike 
with  the  keen  hatchet  into  the  head  of  Occonestoga — 
Good !   But  the  chief  would  not  hear  of  him.     Look 
— the  bush  is  ready  for  thy  sleep." 
39 


236  THE    YEMASSEE.    . 

He  pointed  to  the  copse  as  he  spoke,  and  his  manner 
forbade  farther  conversation.  Leaving  her,  he  took  his 
way  among  the  warriors,  arranging  the  disposition  of 
his  camp  and  of  farther  events. 

Meanwhile  the  palatine  approached  the  enemy, 
slowly,  but  with  certainty.  Confident,  as  he  advanced, 
he  nevertheless  made  his  approaches  sure.  He  took 
counsel  of  all  matters  calculated  to  affect  or  concern 
the  controversies  of  war.  He  omitted  no  precaution 
— spared  no  pains — suffered  nothing  to  divert  him 
from  the  leading  object  in  which  his  mind  was  inter- 
ested. His  scouts  were  ever  in  motion,  and  as  he 
himself  knew  much  of  the  country  through  which  he 
marched,  his  information  was  at  all  times  certain. 
He  pitched  his  camp  within  a  mile  of  the  position 
chosen  by  the  Yemassees,  upon  ground  carefully  se- 
lected so  as  to  prevent  surprise.  His  main  force  lay 
in  the  hollow  of  a  wood,  which  spread  in  the  rear  of  a 
small  mucky  bay,  interposed  directly  between  his  own 
and  the  strength  of  the  enemy.  A.  thick  copse  hung 
upon  either  side,  and  here  he  scattered  a  chosen  band 
of  his  best  sharp  shooters.  They  had  their  instruc- 
tions ;  and  as  he  left  as  little  as  possible  to  chance,  he 
took  care  that  they  fulfilled  them.  Such  were  his 
arrangements  that  night,  as  soon  as  his  ground  of  en- 
campment had  been  chosen.  At  a  given  signal,  the 
main  body  of  the  army  retired  to  their  tents.  The 
blanket  of  each  soldier,  suspended  from  a  crotch-stick, 
as  was  the  custom  of  war  in  that  region,  formed  his 
covering  from  the  dews  of  night.  The  long  grass  con- 
stituted a  bed  sufficiently  warm  and  soft  in  a  clime, 
and  at  a  season,  so  temperate.  The  fires  were  kindled, 
the  roll  of  the  drum  in  one  direction,  and  the  mel- 
low tones  of  the  bugle  in  another,  announced  the  suffi- 
cient signal  for  repose.  Weary  with  the  long  march 
of  the  day,  the  greater  number  were  soon  lulled  into 
a  slumber,  as  little  restrained  by  thought  as  if  all  were 
free  from  danger  and  there  were  no  enemy  before  them. 

But  the  guardian  watchers  had  been  carefully  select- 
ed by  their  provident  leader,  and  they  slept  not.     The 


THE    YEMASSEE.  237 

palatine  himself  was  a  sufficient  eye  over  that  slum 
Bering  host.  He  was  unwearied  and  wakeful.  He 
could  not  be  otherwise  ;  his  thought  kept  busy  note  of 
the  hours  and  of  the  responsibilities  upon  him.  It  is 
thus  that  the  leading  mind  perpetually  exhibits  proofs 
of  its  immortality,  maintaining  the  physical  nature  in 
its  weaknesses,  renewing  its  strength,  feeding  it  with  a 
fire  that  elevates  its  attributes,  and  almost  secures  it  in 
immortality  too.  He  knew  his  enemy,  and  suspecting 
his  wiles,  he  prepared  his  own  counter-stratagems. 
His  arrangements  were  well  devised,  and  he  looked 
with  impatience  for  the  progress  of  the  hours  which 
were  to  bring  about  the  result  he  now  contemplated  as 
certain. 

It  was  early  morning,  some  three  hours  before  the 
dawn,  and  the  gray  squirrel  had  already  begun  to  scat- 
ter the  decayed  branches  from  the  tree-tops  in  which 
he  built  his  nest,  when  the  palatine  roused  his  officers, 
and  they  in  turn  the  men.  They  followed  his  bidding. 
In  quick  movement,  and  without  noise,  they  were  mar- 
shalled in  little  groups,  leaving  their  blanket  tents 
standing  precisely  as  when  they  lay  beneath  them. 
Under  their  several  leaders  they  were  marched  for- 
ward, in  single  or  Indian  file,  through  the  copse  which 
ran  along  on  either  side  of  their  place  of  encampment. 
They  were  halted,  just  as  they  marched,  with  their 
tents  some  few  hundred  yards  behind  them.  Here 
they  were  dispersed  through  the  forest,  at  given  inter- 
vals, each  warrior  having  his  bush  or  tree  assigned 
him.  Thus  stationed,  they  were  taught  to  be  watch- 
ful and  to  await  the  movements  of  the  enemy. 

The  palatine  had  judged  rightly.  He  was  satisfied 
that  the  Yemassees  would  be  unwilling  to  have  the  battle 
forced  upon  them  at  Pocota-ligo,  exposing  their  women 
and  children  to  the  horrors  of  an  indiscriminate  fight. 
To  avoid  this,  it  was  necessary  that  they  should  an- 
ticipate his  approach  to  that  place.  The  Salke-hatchie 
was  the  last  natural  barrier  which  they  could  well  op- 
pose to  his  progress  ;  and  the  swamps  and  thick  fast- 
nesses which  marked  the  neighbourhood,  indicated  it 
well  as  the  most  fitting  spot  for  Indian  warfare.     This 


238  THE    YEMASSEE. 

was  in  the  thought  of  the  palatine  not  less  than  of 
Sanutee  ;  and  in  this  lay  one  of  the  chief  merits  of  the 
former  as  a  captain.  He  thought  for  his  enemy.  He 
could  not  narrow  his  consideration  of  the  game  before 
him,  to  his  own  play ;  and  having  determined  what 
was  good  policy  with  his  foe,  he  prepared  his  own  t<? 
encounter  it. 

Sanutee  had  been  greatly  aided  in  the  progress  of 
this  war  by  the  counsels  of  the  celebrated  Creek  chief, 
Chigilli,  who  led  a  small  band  of  the  lower  Creeks  and 
Euchees  in  the  insurrection.  With  his  advice,  he 
determined  upon  attacking  the  Carolinian  army  be- 
fore the  dawn  of  the  ensuing  day.  That  night  arranged 
their  proceedings,  and,  undaunted  by  the  communica- 
tion of  his  fate,  revealed  to  him  in  the  vision  of  Mati- 
wan,  which,  perhaps — with  the  subdued  emotions 
of  one  who  had  survived  his  most  absorbing  affections 
— he  was  not  unwilling  to  believe,  he  roused  his  war- 
riors at  a  sufficiently  early  hour,  and  they  set  forward, 
retracing  their  steps,  and  well  prepared  to  surprise 
their  enemy.  The  voice  of  the  whippoorwill  regu- 
lated their  progress  through  the  doubtful  and  dark 
night,  and  without  interruption  they  went  on  for  a  mile 
or  more,  until  their  scouts  brought  them  word  that  the 
yellow  blankets  of  the  whites  glimmered  through  the 
shadows  of  the  trees  before  them.  With  increased 
caution,  therefore,  advancing,  they  came  to  a  point 
commanding  a  full  view  of  the  place  of  repose  of*  the 
Carolinian  army.  Here  they  halted,  placing  them- 
selves carefully  in  cover,  and  waiting  for  the  earliest 
show  of  dawn  in  which  to  commence  the  attack  by  a 
deadly  and  universal  fire  upon  the  tents  and  their  fly- 
ing inmates.  In  taking  such  a  position,  they  placed 
themselves  directly  between  the  two  divisions  of  the 
palatine's  force,  which,  skirting  the  copse  on  either 
hand,  stood  in  no  less  readiness  than  themselves,  with 
their  movement,  to  effect  its  own ;  and  when  the 
savages  advanced  upon  the  unconscious  camp,  to  come 
out  upon  their  wings  and  rear,  taking  them  at  a  vantage 
which  must  give  a  fatal  defeat  to  their  enterprise. 

It  came  at  last,  the  day  so  long  and  patiently  looked 


THE    YEMASSEE.  239 

for  by  both  parties.  A  faint  gleam  of  light  gushed 
through  the  trees,  and  a  gray  streak  like  a  fine  thread 
stole  out  upon  the  horizon.  Then  rose  the  cry,  the 
fierce  war-whoop  of  Yemassee  and  Creek  ;  "  Sangar- 
rah-me,  Sangarrah-me  !"  was  the  shout.  Blood  for  the 
Yemassee,  blood  for  the  Cherokee,  blood  for  the  Creek 
— were  the  signals  which,  at  a  given  moment,  carried 
forward  the  thousand  fierce  and  dusky  warriors  of  the 
confederate  nations  upon  the  tents  which  they  fondly 
imagined  to  contain  their  sleeping  enemies.  The 
shot  penetrated  the  blankets  in  every  direction — the 
arrows  hurtled  on  all  sides  through  the  air,  and,  rapidly 
advancing  with  the  first  discharge,  the  Indians  rushed 
to  the  tents,  tomahawk  in  hand,  to  strike  down  the 
fugitives.  In  that  moment,  the  sudden  hurrah  of  the 
Carolinians,  in  their  rear  and  on  their  sides,  aroused 
them  to  a  knowledge  of  that  stratagem  which  had  an- 
ticipated their  own.  The  shot  told  fatally  on  their 
exposed  persons,  and  a  fearful  account  of  victims 
came  with  the  very  first  discharge  of  the  sharp-shoot- 
ing foresters.  Consternation,  for  a  moment,  followed 
the  first  consciousness  which  the  Indians  had  of  their 
predicament ;  but  desperation  took  the  place  of  sur- 
prise. Sanutee  and  Chigilli  led  them  in  every  point, 
and  wherever  the  face  of  the  foe  could  be  seen. 
Their  valour  was  desperate  but  cool,  and  European 
warfare  has  never  shown  a  more  determined  spirit  of 
bravery  than  was  then  manifested  by  the  wild  warriors 
of  Yemassee,  striking  the  last  blow  for  the  glory  and 
the  existence  of  their  once  mighty  nation.  Driven 
back  on  one  side  and  another,  they  yet  returned  fiercely 
and  fearlessly  to  the  conflict,  with  a  new  strength  and 
an  exaggerated  degree  of  fury.  Chigilli,  raging  like 
one  of  his  own  forest  panthers,  fell,  fighting,  with  his 
hand  wreathed  in  the  long  hair  of  one  of  the  borderers, 
whom  he  had  grappled  behind  his  tree,  and  for  whose 
heart  his  knife  was  already  flashing  in  the  air.  A 
random  shot  saved  the  borderer,  by  passing  directly 
through  the  scull  of  the  Indian.  A  howl  of  despairing 
vengeance  went  up  from  the  tribe  which  he  led  as 
they  beheld  him  fall ;  and,  rushing  upon  the  sheltered 
3p* 


240  THE    YEMASSEE. 

whites,  as  they  sought  to  reclaim  his  body,  they  ex- 
perienced the  same  fate  to  a  man !  For  two  hours 
after  this  the  fight  raged  recklessly  and  fierce.  The 
Indians  were  superior  in  number  to  the  Carolinians, 
but  the  surprise  of  their  first  assault  was  productive  of 
a  panic  from  which  they  never  perfectly  recovered. 
This  was  more  than  an  off-set  to  any  disparity  of  force 
originally  ;  and,  as  the  position  of  the  whites  had  been 
well  taken,  the  Yemassees  found  it  impossible  in  the 
end  to  force  it.  The  rising  sun  beheld  them  broken — 
without  concert — hopeless  of  all  farther  effort — flying 
in  every  direction ;  shot  down  as  they  ran  into  the 
open  grounds,  and  crushed  by  the  servile  auxiliaries 
of  the  whites  as  they  sought  for  shelter  in  the  cover 
of  the  woods,  assigned,  for  this  purpose,  to  the  negroes. 

A  brief  distance  apart  from  the  melee — free  from  the 
flying  crowd,  as  the  point  was  more  exposed  to  dan- 
ger— one  spot  of  the  field  of  battle  rose  into  a  slight 
elevation.  A  little  group  rested  upon  it,  consisting  of 
four  persons.  Two  of  them  were  Yemassee  subordi- 
nates. One  of  these  was  already  dead — from  the 
bosom  of  the  other  in  thick  currents,  freezing  fast,  the 
life  was  rapidly  ebbing.  He  looked  up  as  he  expired, 
and  his  last  broken  words,  in  his  own  language,  were 
those  of  homage  and  affection  to  the  well-beloved  of  his 
people — the  great  chief,  Sanutee.  It  was  the  face  of 
the  "  well-beloved"  upon  which  his  glazed  eyes  were 
fixed,  with  an  expression  of  admiration,  indicative  of  the 
feeling  of  his  whole  people,  and  truly  signifying  that, 
of  the  dying  Indian  to  the  last.  The  old  chief  looked 
down  on  him  encouragingly,  as  the  warrior  broke  out 
into  a  start  of  song — the  awful  song  of  his  dying. — 
The  spirit  parted  with  the  effort,  and  Sanutee  turned 
his  eyes  from  the  contemplation  of  the  melancholy 
spectacle  to  the  only  living  person  beside  him. 

That  person  was  Matiwan.  She  hung  over  the 
well-beloved  with  an  affection  as  purely  true,  as 
warmly  strong,  as  the  grief  of  her  soul  was  speechless 
and  tearless.  Her  hand  pressed  closely  upon  his 
side,  from  which  the  vital  torrent  was  streaming  fast ; 
and  between  them,  in  a  low  moaning  strain,  in  the  Ye- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  241 

massee   tongue,  they  bewailed  the   fortunes  of  their 
nation. 

"  The  eye  of  Matiwan  looked  on,  when  the  toma- 
hawk was  red — when  the  knife  had  a  wing.  She  saw 
Chigilli,  the  brave  of  the  Creeks — she  saw  him  strike  ?" 
inquired  the  chief  of  the  woman. 

"  Matiwan  saw." 

"  Let  the  woman  say  of  Sanutee,  the  well-beloved 
of  Yemassee.  Did  Chigilli  go  before  him?  Was 
Sanutee  a  dog  that  runs  ?  Was  the  hatchet  of  a  chief 
slow?  Did  the  well-beloved  strike  at  the  pale-face 
as  if  the  red  eye  of  Opitchi-Manneyio  had  looked  on 
him  for  a  slave  ?" 

"  The  well-beloved  is  the  great  brave  of  Yemassee. 
The  other  chiefs  came  after.  Matiwan  saw  him 
strike  like  a  chief,  when  the  battle  was  thick  with  a 
rush,  and  the  hatchet  was  deep  in  the  head  of  a  pale 
warrior.  Look,  oh,  well-beloved — is  not  this  the 
bullet  of  the  white  man  ?  The  big  knife  is  in  the 
bosom  of  a  chief,  and  the  blood  is  like  a  rope  on  the 
fingers  of  Matiwan." 

"  It  is  from  the  heart  of  Sanutee  !" 

"  Ah-cheray-me — ah-cheray-me  !"  groaned  the  wo- 
man, in  savage  lamentation,  as  she  sunk  down  beside 
the  old  warrior,  one  arm  now  inclasping  his  already 
immoveable  person. 

"  It  is  good,  Matiwan.  The  well-beloved  has  no 
people.  The  Yemassee  has  bones  in  the  thick  wood' 
and  there  are  no  young  braves  to  sing  the  song  of  his 
glory.  The  Coosah-moray-te  is  on  the  bosom  of  the 
Yemassee,  with  the  foot  of  the  great  bear  of  Apalatchie. 
He  makes  his  bed  in  the  old  home  of  Pocota-ligo,  like 
a  fox  that  burrows  in  the  hill-side.  We  may  not  drive 
him  away.  It  is  good  for  Sanutee  to  die  with  his  peo- 
ple.    Let  the  song  of  his  dying  be  sung." 

"  Ah-cheray-me — ah-cheray-me  !"  was  the  only  re- 
sponse of  the  woman,  as,  but  partially  equal  to  the  ef- 
fort, the  chief  began  his  song  of  many  victories. 

But  the  pursuers  were  at  hand,  in  the  negroes,  now 
scouring  the  field  of  battle  with  their  huge  clubs  and 

Vol.  II. 


242  THE    YEMASSEE. 

hatchets,  knocking  upon  the  head  all  of  the  Indians 
who  yet  exhibited  any  signs  of  life.  As  wild  almost  as 
the  savages,  they  luxuriated  in  a  pursuit  to  them  so 
very  novel— they  hurried  over  the  fore-sts  with  a  step  as 
fleet,  and  a  ferocity  as  dreadful — sparing  none,  wheth- 
er they  fought  or  plead,  and  frequently  inflicting  the 
most  unnecessary  blows,  even  upon  the  dying  and  the 
dead.  The  eye  of  Matiwan,  while  watching  the  ex- 
piring blaze  in  that  of  the  old  warrior,  discovered  the 
approach  of  one  of  these  sable  enemies.  She  threw 
up  her  hand  to  arrest,  or  impede  the  blow,  exclaiming, 
as  she  did  so,  the  name  of  the  chief  she  defended.  He 
himself  feebly  strove  to  grasp  the  hatchet,  which  had 
sunk  from  his  hands,  to  defend  himself,  or  at  least  to 
strike  the  assailant ;  but  life  had  only  clustered,  that 
moment,  in  strength  about  his  heart.  The  arm  was 
palsied ;  but  the  half-unclosing  eye,  which  glowed 
wildly  upon  the  black,  and  arrested  his  blow  much 
more  completely  than  the  effort  of  Matiwan,  attested 
the  yet  reluctant  consciousness.  Life  went  with  the  last 
effort,  when,  thinking  only  of  the  strife  for  his  country, 
his  lips  parted  feebly  with  the  cry  of  battle — "  Sangar- 
rah-me,  Yemassee — Sangarrah-me — Sangarrah-me  !" 

The  eye  was  dim  for  ever.  Looking  no  longer  to  the 
danger  of  the  stroke  from  the  club  of  the  negro,  Matiwan 
threw  herself  at  length  over  the  body,  now  doubly  sa- 
cred to  that  childless  woman.  At  that  moment  the 
lord  palatine  came  up,  in  time  to  arrest  the  brutal  blow 
of  the  servile  which  threatened  her. 

"  Matiwan,"  said  the  palatine,  stooping  to  raise  her 
from  the  body — "  Matiwan,  it  is  the  chief  ?" 

"  Ah-cheray-me,  ah-cheray-me,  Sanutee — Ah-che- 
ray-me,  ah-cheray-me,  Yemassee !" 

She  was  unconscious  of  all  things,  as  they  bore  her 
tenderly  away,  save  that  the  Yemassee  was  no  longer 
the  great  nation.  She  only  felt  that  the  "  well-beloved," 
as  well  of  herself  as  of  her  people,  looked  forth, 
with  Occonestoga,  wondering  that  she  came  not,  from 
the  Blessed  Valley  of  the  Good  Manneyto. 

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